


Soleil

by KaleidoscopeEyes13



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Language, Recreational Drug Use, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaleidoscopeEyes13/pseuds/KaleidoscopeEyes13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a French/German young adult who grew up in both Paris and New York. He comes from a big family, including a twin sister, all of whom are extremely religious and homophobic. He has known about his sexuality his entire life but has struggled with a life of drug and alcohol abuse and an ongoing depression in an effort to cope with it. Marco is an American student who also comes from a big and loving family, the youngest of seven. He is a ray of sun; always optimistic and chipper, a complete opposite of Jean. They meet when Jean is studying journalism at Paris-Sorbonne and Marco is working on an international internship--becoming attracted to one another almost immediately. After a life of lying to himself and to everyone he holds near, he finally finds someone who is willing to love him for who he is. But is he ready for that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> First impressions. First meetings. First big break, for Jean.
> 
> For the sake of the story Jean and Marco are seen to be super hot by literally everyone, because obviously.
> 
> Also I listened to Alt-J the entire time while writing this. So every chapter is going to be a line from one of their songs from now on.

            Letting out a long and heaving sigh, Jean situated himself in front of the bar and scowled at his reflection in the shiny counter-top. His life was becoming so pointless, lately. Sure, he was four months sober from all of the drugs, and sure, his physical and mental health were substantially better, but he didn’t feel any happier. He still didn’t feel good about himself and who he was deep down inside, even now that he had the total freedom to be that person. What else could it possibly take? And to make things worse, the more he thought about how unhappy he was, the more he thought about retreating back to the numbness of drugs. Even the thought of when he had overdosed all of those months ago didn’t seem so bad when he considered escaping from the depression that always seemed to creep up on him lately. He felt so numb, sometimes he felt nothing at all. At least when he was high he could feel...

            The bartender slid him his drink and his tab and walked away without a word. Jean took a few sips, trying not to show how his emotions too obviously on his face. Maybe it was time to go back to the States. He moved back to France to leave everything behind, become more independent, and to finally come to terms with his sexuality…He chose Paris-Sorbonne and their Celsa program because, besides the fat that he was 1 out of 25 applicants who actually got accepted, he could finally live away from his family, no matter how much he loved them. He could be away from his beautiful twin sister Johanna and his other siblings and his parents who spewed hatred for anything slightly queer. But besides class and his internships on the side, the things he’d gotten out of his entire time so far was a week in the hospital from his overdose and a few pathetic hook-ups with random strangers at clubs that he couldn’t remember if he tried. He didn’t have any friends, and all of his French family lived so far away…Maybe the life Jean had lived before, his parents’ dream…America’s straight, tall, muscular, jock, really was the one that suited him. Jean winced, throwing back the drink and frowning. No. Not these thoughts again. He was better than he was in the States, always living fearful, crying himself to sleep every night and dreaming of suicide. He wasn’t as lively in France as he hoped he’d be, but he sure as Hell was doing better here than there. Pressing his lips together and taking a deep breath, he tried to lighten up and scanned the lounge casually.

            All at once, he felt his heart thump hard against his ribs, his eyes widen, his jaw drop, and his lung fill up with a sharp intake of air.

            The most gorgeous man Jean had ever seen had just walked into his view. He was tall, probably around 6 foot. He had a nice, lean yet sinewy body, which he held in a confident and inviting manner. The features of his face were smooth and defined—angular cheeks paralleled a rectangular jaw, a long and straight nose, a wide mouth with a set of straight white teeth (he had just smiled fully at the girl who bumped into him on accident and apologized), beautiful, round, brown eyes that sparkled even with the dimness of the room, and the most adorable splash of freckles across his cheeks and nose. He had short, dark brown hair that was combed neatly away from his forehead. Jean couldn’t look away. It was like everything in the world had simply melted away at that moment and the only thing left standing was this incredibly beautiful man. He couldn’t help but feel like maybe he’d seen him before, then realized it was because he was pretty much the closest thing he’d imagined to the “dream man” he constructed back in the 7th grade. Feeling foolish and awkward and sweaty, Jean pulled himself out of the stare to sip from his drink, then realized there was nothing left in it. Allowing himself to look up again, he saw the man make his way up to the bar and sit down on the other side, ordering a drink as soon as he did.

            _Is he here alone?_ Jean wondered to himself, leaning his cheek against his hand. _No friend? Girlfriend?_ He swallowed hard, feeling himself go hot. _Boyfriend?_

The man grinned as his drink came up—a pink cosmopolitan garnished with a lime wedge and an orange skin. Jean almost let out a snort. _Okay. Boyfriend. Not to be stereotypical or anything but…no he’s definitely gay._ Jean twisted his mouth around, watching as the man glanced nonchalantly at the male bartender’s ass as he walked away. _God damn. This is bad. If you keep staring at him like this, he’ll see you. But…maybe he won’t. Maybe you can just look at him for a little bit longer. Then, once you’ve had enough of his face burned into your memory that you can go home and jack-off to it peacefully, you can go._ He reached in his pocket to pay his bill, looking down at the tab placed in front of him to see how much he owed, then glanced back up.

            His entire body erupted into another heart-pumping sweat. He was looking at him. The man across the bar was looking at _him_. And Jean knew it, too, because he held the same-exact expression that Jean was wearing just seconds ago. A little embarrassed, the man didn’t avert his eyes. Instead, he gave a quiet and coy closed-lipped smile, his eyes searing on Jean’s the entire time, then redirected his attention to the bartender and started talking to him. Jean felt his entire body release from its previous tense stature. _Dammit._ He thought sadly, unable to get off of his stool. _It almost felt like he was going to come over here and talk to me or something._

He’d been blinking off into space for a few minutes until the bartender came over, clearing his throat and sliding a martini in front of him. Jean raised his eyebrows lazily, getting ready to tell him that the drink wasn’t his.

            “Someone ordered this drink for you. Said to call the phone number to find out who it’s from.” He said in an incredibly bored tone.

            Jean could feel his hands shaking as he grabbed his cell phone immediately. Was it the guy? No…it couldn’t be. That would just be wishful thinking on Jean’s part. Plus, Jean never had good luck. Like, not in his entire life did the things he wish for ever come true (speaking of relationships, that is). Still, he was a bit curious as he carefully dialed the number and searched around for the ringing phone.

            It took him a minute to identify the drink sender as he looked left and right for whoever was answering his call. Finally, his eyes landed on an overweight, middle-aged woman wearing a stained, yellow blouse that looked like it was straight out of the 80’s, and a much-too tight jean mini-skirt. She was sporting some dark tufts of hair above either corner on her bright-pink lips. Jean felt his entire face and heart drop when he saw her picking up the phone, blinking stupidly at the number on the screen. When she answered it, Jean pressed his phone to the receiver just to make sure it was her.

            “Hello?” She breathed with a scratchy, deep voice. _God fucking dammit._ Jean scowled, getting up from the bar to walk up to her. _Every fucking time I go out, I’m hit on by women like you. No, it couldn’t be the hot-as-fuck guy sitting across the bar. It has to be the mid-life-crisis divorcee with high expectations. Every fucking time!_ Jean knew he had to let her down harshly. When he played it nice back in the past and turned them down, that only led to them being incredibly clingy.

            “Okay, I’m sorry,” Jean hung up the phone once he reached her. She looked up at him, almost confused, with crusty and goopy mascaraed eyes. “I’m just going to be honest here. Did you ever think that this could happen? I mean…no offense, but—“ _Don’t say it Jean. Don’t be more of an asshole than you already are for turning her down. No…say it. The universe has fucked you more times than you’d like to imagine. Just say it._ “—you’ve got more of a moustache than I do!”

            The perplexed expression had warped into one of pure anger and disgust. Standing up, she took her beer and splashed it in his face. Jean was too stunned to even think, wiping his eyes as she took the man’s drink next to her (Jean guessed a piña colada by the slushy texture) and dumped it down his pants.

            “Fuck you, pretty boy!” She screamed, then stomped off.

            Jean dashed towards the bathroom, cursing himself in every direction. _Why? What did I do to deserve this fucking treatment everywhere I fucking go?!_ Angrily, he grabbed paper towel after paper towel, a small shred of gratefulness shining inside him when he noticed nobody else was in there, and started cursing her vocally to let out his frustration.

            “Every time I try to set them down nicely, they don’t fucking leave me,” he grumbled, wiping off his face. “Then when I tell them like it is, they act like a fucking maniac…piece of shit tie!” He screamed, giving up on loosening the tie from around his neck and letting it fall back against his chest. He was so infuriated, that he didn’t even notice the man of his dreams from across the bar was standing next to him, a frantic and panicked expression on his face as he helped Jean grab more paper towels. Jean straightened his back immediately, not prepared to see him so close. Honestly—it made it all so much worse. The guy was ten times more attractive now that Jean could inspect every inch of his skin and count every freckle and stare more closely into his sparkling puppy dog eyes.

            “Oh my God,” the man gasped with a thick American accent. “That was bad! I was the one…my phone dropped…my pants…” He obviously didn’t know French well enough to form the full sentences, so Jean cleared his throat and tried talking to him in English.

            “I’m sorry, what?” He asked with a suddenly high-pitched voice. With a shaking hand, he reached forward and took the paper towels from the man but didn’t bother wiping anything off. He was too stricken to even try moving his limbs.

            The man looked relieved that Jean spoke in English to him. He bit his lip and kept his eyes on Jean’s confidently, his voice quiet but strong at the same time. “I was trying to say…the phone was mine. I saw you and thought you looked interesting, so I tried sending you the drink and my number, but I guess my phone fell out of my pants and that lady picked it up. I’m so sorry she did that to you! Although, I guess you didn’t have to tell her about her moustache…” He laughed lightly, the sound of it alone enough to send Jean’s heart aflutter and the smile that grabbed Jean’s attention before nearly knocking him off of his feet. Was this what people felt when they talked about love at first sight? Jean tried to talk himself out of it, saying that it was a dream, or that he was getting in too deep already, or that maybe was all a joke or something. But he couldn’t. For the first time in his entire life, something that he wanted had finally, finally happened. He wasn’t sure why, but this mystery man standing in front of him all made sense. He knew that from this moment on, his life was going to get better, just a little, and it was going to be from this guy. The feeling was so strong, he could feel it in his bones.

            “My name’s Jean,” he said, his voice trembling. “I…uh…here’s my number,” he glanced around stupidly, then took one of the crumpled paper towels out of his grasp and scrawled his number on it as legibly as he could with a pen from his pocket. “I’m going to get out of these clothes, but call me?” When the man blinked back at him, another smile forming on his lips, Jean couldn’t take it anymore, pushing past him and leaving the lounge. He speed-walked to the curb and hailed a cab, then speed-walked up to his apartment after the ride. It wasn’t until he stood in the shower did he realize: 1. How rude and frightening he must have been, storming out of there so suddenly and 2. How stupid he was for writing down his number when he had already called the guy’s phone in the first place. Jean closed his eyes and grimaced, leaning his head against the wall of the shower and wondering why he always had to screw everything up.

 

            “Hi, Jean? My name’s Marco, we met at the bar after that whole crazy drink fiasco,” the voice on the receiver answered when Jean asked who it was. Jean scrambled out of his bed, looking at the alarm clock he’d knocked on the floor for the time. It was already noon on Monday, two days after he’d met the man in the lounge. Jean stared up at the ceiling, a wave of relief washing over his body. The past two days had been absolute torture. He was so sure that the man had decided not to call him after how ridiculous he acted, and that he figured Jean probably wasn’t interested. Then he battled between calling him himself and waiting to call him for an entire day, before just giving up on it as a lost cause and getting drunk to forget about it. But now, as his suddenly great luck had it, he finally called.

            “Oh, uh, yeah! I’m so sorry for rushing out on you like that…” he mumbled, closing his eyes and picturing every angle of his face just like he had been for the past two days. Now that he knew it, his name started bouncing around his head now, too.

            “No, it’s okay. If some lady had spilled a margarita down my pants, I would have rushed out of there to get changed too,” he answered cheerfully, although Jean could tell it was a lie. “Anyway, I don’t mean to sound too forward, and we can always reschedule for another time, but I was just wondering if you had any plans for tonight? I’ve been pining to see this new movie that came out last Friday, or maybe grab a bite to eat, or maybe both.”

            It was all too good to be true. “I don’t have anything planned…” he answered shyly, wanting to cry from happiness and break from the nerves at the same time. He’d never actually been on a real date with another guy before, let alone the most attractive man on the planet. But he wasn’t going to just pass this up…no, he was going to jump on the offer without caring how eager he sounded. There was never anything he wanted this badly, never anything that he felt so positive and so strongly about. “I live just off the campus of Sorbonne, do you think you’d want to meet up around here, or--?”

            “No, that’s great! I live just a few blocks away from Sorbonne! Why don’t you text me your address and I can come pick you up at four?” Jean raised his eyebrows. This was happening so fast and so casually! This guy, Marco, must’ve been on millions of dates before or something.

            “Yeah, sure,” he replied sheepishly. “See you then.”

            After he hung up, Jean dragged himself out of the bed and went to the gym to try to rid of his anxiety. That only ended up making himself more nervous, so after he went home, got showered, and picked out the best casual outfit he could find, he sat at his dining table and stared at the clock until it was 3:50. Marco called to let him know he was there only one full minute later.

            Jean walked downstairs with wobbly legs to see Marco in a light green sweater and dark jeans at the front of the tower door. He was smiling his cute, wide smile again, causing Jean to smile back (something that rarely ever happened).

            “Hi,” he walked closer to Jean and blinked his dark lashes up at him. “Let me introduce myself in person this time. My name is Marco Bott and I hail from the United States.” He stuck out his hand for a handshake, which Jean found odd and feared at the same time. Odd, because he was only ever used to other guys grabbing his ass immediately upon meeting him or grinding up against his leg or something (when he tried out gay bars in Paris, that is). Feared, because he knew as soon as he touched Marco it would be all over. And it was. The warmth of his hand and the smoothness of his palm and fingers drew a mad blush up Jean’s neck to his ears. He couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of his body felt like as he brought his hand back to his pants pocket.

            “Jean Kirschstien.” He answered nervously, his smile returning.

            “Kirschstien? That sounds…um, let me guess, German?” Marco asked as they started walking to the bus stop. Jean nodded once, impressed he got it in one try. “German huh…but you speak both French and English so well!”

            “Oh, I’m actually half-German and half-French. I was born and raised in Nice until I was 5, then my family moved to the New York.” He found it so easy to talk to Marco, no matter how nervous he was.

            “Shut the front door! I’m from New York, too! I’m from Sina Springs!” Marco had grabbed Jean’s elbow excitedly when he said this, sending more inevitable sparks through Jean’s body.

            “Uh, I’m from Trost,” Jean spoke to Marco’s lingering hand, a bit disappointed when he let go. “I’ve driven through Sina a few times though.”

            “Well. Isn’t this all just a big, great coincidence!” Marco smiled warmly at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Jean tried cracking his sideways grin, one that always used to drive girls crazy back home. To his pleasure, it made Marco go a little pink in the cheeks and his smile fall just a little bit, unable to look away.

            That’s where the cute, airiness of their date ended. After the bus ride, Jean had gotten into his own head again. Whenever Marco tried asking him questions, Jean found himself fumbling over all of the words with awkward stutters and long, uncomfortable pauses. He tripped over his own feet at least twice, Marco catching him by the arm each time, which was nice, but still embarrassing. After they paid for their movie tickets, popcorn, and drinks, they went to go find seats, and Jean knocked over both their popcorn and his soda onto Marco’s lap as they sat down. Jean apologized profusely, running out of the theater to go grab paper towels from the bathroom, knowing for sure that the date had been ruined at that Marco probably hated him. When he turned to leave the bathroom and back into the theater, though, Marco was right behind him, doubled over in laughter about how unlucky the two of them were with drinks. Jean felt a little bit better after this, but of course, things didn’t ever go his way. They walked back to the theater and went to sit down yet again, but instead of spilling food and drink all over Marco, this time Jean lost his footing and spilled _himself_ over Marco, plowing him over as he landed, half standing half kneeling in the aisle. Marco had fallen onto the lap of an un-expecting woman and was wedged in-between her and Jean for a solid 10 seconds until Jean apologized profusely to both of them, this time, too embarrassed to even help Marco up. They sat down, Jean wanting to disappear the whole time as he rested his palm against his forehead.

After that, Jean didn’t touch Marco the entire time, not even daring to hold his hand, feeling so much like a shy teenager. Marco seemed to be totally fine with this, though, brushing it off just like he did with everything else. The movie was only about an hour and a half long, so after it was over they chatted lightly about it and walked back to the bathroom where Marco checked out the condition of his pants and Jean went pee (in the stall, not wanting to give Marco any surprises yet). When he came out and they’d been walking, Marco was staring at his crotch so outwardly that Jean knew something was wrong, and of course, it came to his attention that he had a pop-fly. His entire face rouged again as he turned to the side to zip himself up, hoping with everything that Marco wasn’t laughing at him. It took him a while to actually look at his face, but when he did, Marco was grinning gently at the floor. “Don't worry,” he muttered. “It happens to me all of the time too. I hate zippers.” When they reached Jean’s apartment (after an uncomfortable, silent walk back from the bus), Jean stared stubbornly at the pavement at the floor. There was nothing else on the planet he could do better than screwing up everything he touched. He braced himself for Marco to lie to him, saying it was a nice evening, before retreating into whatever Heavenly place he came from and never calling Jean again.

            “Was this your first date?” Marco asked quietly, nudging Jean’s hand with his pinky. “I mean, with another guy?” Jean hadn’t realized it, but Marco had suddenly come very close. They were only inches away, every pore on Marco’s face visible to Jean now. Glumly, Jean gave a curt nod, a little surprised that he had guessed it was his first time, and turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. God, this sucked. He was going to tell him that it was the worst date he’d ever been on, and that Jean should go back to living his fake straight life because the gay thing just wasn’t going to work. Instead, Marco just laughed gently, taking Jean’s hand in his and beaming at him with those damn, twinkling eyes. “That’s a surprise. Before meeting you, I never would have guessed, you’re so handsome and everything. But I think maybe I could tell when we talked on the phone…” he bit his lip, stroking the back of Jean’s hand with his thumb. Jean looked back at him, his heart beating unevenly and his breaths coming out with rugged exhales. Was he really holding his hand like this in public? And was Jean actually…letting him? And holding it back? Marco just tilted his head a little, a dreamy look all about his face. “Let me tell you about my first date. I was fifteen years old and ten times as nervous as you. I put on my shirt inside out and backwards without realizing it, and long story short, I ended up throwing up on the guy and never heard from him again.” He laughed that beautiful, gentle laugh, again, Jean feeling that it was his favorite sound in the world. “So don’t feel bad about this one, okay? I don’t know much about you, or your history, or why it’s taken you so long to actually go out on a date, but I can tell right now that you’re a really sweet guy and you seem like you deserve all of the second chances in the world. If you want, I’d like to see you again tomorrow.”

            Jean could feel his face contorting, his eyebrows pulling inwards and his mouth hanging a little. Who was this guy to act so kind and genuine to him? To somehow know everything about him while knowing so little at the same time? Biting his lower lip, Jean nodded once again, not wanting to burst out into tears in front of this beautiful stranger. There was nothing more on this Earth he’d like to do than see Marco again…and again, and again.

            “Good. I’m glad.” Marco was so close, his breath touched the top of Jean’s lips, sending quivers up and down his spine. There wasn’t a single person in sight on the street, nothing else to be seen except for the two young men close together underneath the amber wall-lamp, illuminated dimly in the otherwise harsh darkness. Jean couldn’t handle it anymore, wanting to do what was on his mind since the moment he first laid eyes on Marco. Softly, he grabbed the sides of Marco’s face and looked up into his eyes, asking him nonverbally if it was okay. Marco blinked slowly, as if to nod. So Jean let his eyes close, feeling Marco’s arms slide around his body as he tilted his face down even more to meet Jean’s. Jean evaporated the distance between them, finally pressing their lips together. Marco’s lips were warm and wet, his tongue soft and his breath sweet. It took a minute for Jean to realize that all of this was actually happening, and when he did, he sunk deeper into their kiss, never wanting to let go. In fact, he wished that he could bring Marco up to his bedroom and have him right then and there. But he knew already that Marco wasn’t that kind of person, and neither was Jean, really, so they separated, smiling dreamily at each other, and said goodbye. Jean was so excited to see Marco again, his lips still buzzing from their kiss, that he texted him only minutes after reaching his room and asked if they could meet each other for breakfast.

            After twenty-two years, the universe was finally paying him back.


	2. If You Really Think That You Can Stomach Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a little more about Jean's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bittersweet chapter.

On the morning after their first date, Jean was the one to call Marco. There was some type of cultural festival going on nearby, and although Jean wasn’t that eager to go, he figured it would be a fun and non-embarrassing place to spend some time together. He also asked Marco if he’d be interested in grabbing breakfast at the bakery by campus to which Marco agreed. After he got ready, Jean practically skipped to the bakery, so excited to finally see the wonderful man of his dreams again. How could one person be so hot and kind and humorous and gentle all at the same time?

            Marco was standing in front of the bakery, gazing through the window at some fresh cupcakes with two coffees in his hand. Jean couldn’t help the giddy smile that jumped across his lips as soon as he saw him. His hair was down and relaxed, as opposed to the gelled style that he had the past two times they’d met. His bangs were a bit floppy as they fell in front of Marco’s eyes every few seconds, using the tip of his pinky to push them casually away. He was almost like a puppy dog or something, he was so cute!

            “Hey,” Jean stepped forward, realizing how long he’d been watching him in silence. “Good morning!”

            “Oh!” Marco spun around, with a soft squeak. “Hi, Jean! I bought us some coffee. I hope dark roast with no cream or sugar is okay—I thought maybe you’d prefer black like I do.” Jean tried not to grin too much at Marco’s hyper state—it was obvious he’d already had a cup or two while he’d been waiting!

            “I do. How could you tell?” He took the cup from Marco. When their fingertips brushed one another, Jean didn’t even blush. _Aha!_ Jean thought. _The mental training worked! But, God, his hands are soft…_ Jean blinked down at his coffee, imagining holding hands with Marco in public.

            “Because you’re a journalist. And so am I. And if you’re anything like me, then you barely ever sleep and live on coffee like it’s oxygen.” Marco smirked, walking into the café. “You hungry? I’ve had my eye on those little puffy thingies for the last ten minutes.”

            “That’s a choux pastry,” chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe you just called it a ‘thingy’ and you’ve been in France for three months.”

            Marco shoved him playfully as they stood at the counter. “Ugh, you’re such a typical Frenchman, criticizing me for not knowing every word in the dictionary. Next you’re going to tell me I’m uncivilized, right?” He was giggling, a quieter and choppier version of his usual laugh. Jean couldn’t help but focus on Marco’s mouth when he spoke and laughed…all he could think of last night and how wonderful their kiss was, and how much he wanted to do it again…hundreds, thousands of times, even.

            Jean feigned a laugh, thoughts of Marco’s warm lips still bouncing around in his head. “No, I won’t. Unless you don’t know what croquembouche is. Then I’m sorry, but you are incredibly uncivilized.”

            Marco’s eyes widened and his face dropped, believing him for half a second. “Wait, really?”

            He laughed for real this time, pulling out his wallet. “Wow. You’re gullible, aren’t you? Anything else besides the puffy thingies?” He ordered a few pastries in French to the cashier as Marco shook his head, and the two of them ate and drank their coffees at the same time as they walked to the festival. The entire time, Jean couldn’t remember the last time that he felt this high (without drugs, that is). His face had started to hurt from smiling so much. Like he discovered before, Marco was an incredibly easy person to talk to. He knew all of the right questions to ask without making Jean feel awkward and uncomfortable like other people did. He had a quirky sense of humor and managed to flirt with him subtly while keeping their conversations casual. And even though Marco had been successful in getting Jean to talk, he was also a delight to listen to, with a soothing voice and a never ending upbeat manner. Just a little Jean peeked inside of Marco’s life and saw so many similarities and differences. He told him about being the youngest of seven siblings, he being the only one unmarried and without children, how loving and supporting his entire family was, what it was like growing up, what kinds of music and movies he liked, and how he got into journalism. Jean also came to understand that Marco had moved to France on an internship for winter, but had decided to extend his stay for another year and few months, he’d loved France so much. His heart sped up at this a little, hoping that he’d be able to spend as much time with him as possible until he left, then figured that he was getting too excited and over his head.

            They spent a few hours just talking and walking around. Marco had brought his DSLR camera with him and they stopped every once and a while, unspeaking, while he got a few pictures of whatever was going on that he found interesting. Jean watched his hands fumbling around, his eyes squinting and his body shifting around in all different kinds of positions to get “the right shot.” His intensity and his focus seemed so contrasting to his own casual behavior. It had only been a few hours, but Jean could feel himself studying Marco to the very last breath…the way he reacted to things, the way his eyes would flick when he saw something interesting. It was odd—he’d never been so focused on a single person so much before. Sure, there was his family and Johanna, but with them it was all kind of a natural thing. He was curious about what went on in their lives to a certain extent, but he also liked to leave some aspects of them alone, like he liked to be left alone. That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy their laughter or feel extraordinarily through their tears, but he didn’t really feel as connected to them as he did to Marco in this moment.

            Jean held his breath while Marco bent down, snapping a few photos of the carnival food. Another thing had also been lurking in his mind throughout the day. He could see so clearly how comfortable Marco was in his own skin and with his sexuality. Earlier, he had babbled on for about ten minutes about what it was like to come out to his entire family—his parents, his siblings (he told each one individually), his friends, and eventually, to the entire school. As far as Jean could tell, Marco had been out since he was 13 years old. When he asked Jean how he came out to his family, he mumbled in just above a whisper how he hadn’t come out to anyone…ever (with the exception of his ex-girlfriend, but he never counted her, really). At this, Marco seemed both taken aback and unaffected at the same time. He was probably surprised that it had he’d spent 22 years in the closet without coming out to a single person and seemed fine going on a date with him, but at the same time, he could probably tell by the way Jean acted the day before. To Jean’s relief, Marco didn’t ask any further questions about it or provoke him, simply saying “Oh, okay,” before changing the subject. Jean wondered if deep down Marco knew how fucked up he was inside. And if he did know…if he ever found out…would he be the type of person to stay, knowing what kind of baggage he had to help Jean carry? Would he be okay with being with someone so helplessly uncomfortable in his own skin? To make things worse, the whole time, Jean could hear his father’s voice ringing clearly in his ears. Faggots, disgrace, abomination…the words played on a loop as the two walked together, un-touching, standing a few feet apart, but a connection so deep Jean could feel it tingling in his fingers. He’d never been in public with another man…not in the daylight, at least, and certainly not sober. Could other people tell they were on a date? Could they read their body languages and suspect something? What would his father say, if he knew? His mother? Johanna?

            “Wow, this is great,” Marco beamed, showing Jean a picture he’d just taken of a little girl with an ice cream cone. “I think I’ll be able to send these in to my editor if I write a little article. He’ll be so impressed.” His face fell a little when he saw the troubled expression on Jean’s face. “Is something wrong?”

            Jean shook his head, throwing on a tight lipped smile and turning to look at the different concession stands. Slowly, he let out the breath he’d been holding in, suddenly feeling the need for a cigarette.

            “Hey, why don’t we grab something to eat. It’s already two! Almost four hours ago since we ate our choux pastries.” He winked, trying to say the word in a thick French accent. “I’ll pay this time, that is, if you do the ordering.”

            He wasn’t sure if it was just Marco’s energy, but every time Jean tensed up like that, he somehow managed to calm him down within seconds. Or, maybe it was just the fact that he somehow knew exactly how to act with Jean…it was strange. It felt like they’d known each other for ages. He sighed again, pleading with himself not to thing too much, and they wandered around for a while. Jean spotted a stand that had American food: cheeseburgers, French fries, hot dogs, and pretzels. Suddenly his stomach growled, not realizing before how hungry he was. At that moment, a couple walked by, each holding on to fat and juicy hamburgers, ketchup dripping down the sides. Jean had to shake his head to stop staring.

            “Ugh. Would you look at those things? They look so greasy and…uch! I can’t imagine what they taste like.” Marco said, shriveling his nose. Jean blinked at him, dumbfounded.

            “Wait, what? You’ve never had a hamburger before?” Was he a vegetarian or something? The mere thought of the word caused Jean’s mind to redirect to his younger sister Joli, a devout vegetarian, which made him uneasy again.

            “No! I’ve never really been able to get on board with the idea of greasy food. The greasiest food I enjoy is oily lo-mien noodles. Whenever my family went to eat cheeseburgers, I always just made a meal of the French fries.”

            Jean raised his brow, then marched forward, ordering two plain cheeseburgers for them through the concession window. After they came up, he brought both of them back to Marco, who had widened his eyes in despair.

            “You’re not going to make me eat one of those, are you? Didn’t you just hear my whole thing about lo mien?” He backed up a few paces, but Jean followed him with a menacing grin.

            “You are going to eat this and realize all you’ve been missing out on for your entire life. And if you don’t enjoy it…I’ll…I’ll…” He twisted his lips around, trying to think of something to bargain him for.

            “You’ll take me behind that booth there and kiss me?” Marco suggested sweetly. The expression on his face had changed to one of playfulness, an amused twinkle appearing in his eyes. Jean felt his chest get tight and his head go dizzy. The booth that Marco spoke of was concealed and in a shaded area; not a single person had passed by it while they’d been standing there, so it was an ideal spot. And, while Jean was feeling incredibly shy at the moment, he didn’t want to pretend like kissing Marco hadn’t been on his mind all day.

            “Okay, deal,” he said, much quieter now, handing Marco the cheeseburger.

It took Marco a few minutes to gain the courage to take a bite, mostly because Jean kept laughing every time he opened his mouth. Finally, he took a large chomp out of the burger, chewed a few times, then swallowed with a bit of difficulty. After staring at the floor for a few seconds, he looked back up at Jean.

“Well?” Jean pressed, almost hoping that Marco hated it so that they’d get to make out for a couple of minutes.

Within seconds, Marco’s face had turned very white. He started to lose his balance, so he gripped onto Jean’s shoulder to steady himself. Then, he whipped his head around, searching left and right for something. “Uh—“ Jean was about to ask, holding his back so he wouldn’t tip over, but he was off running towards the nearest garbage can, his head buried inside of it as he hurled up his single bite of cheeseburger.

Jean ran after him, grabbing a few paper towels. After being torn between being terrified and bursting out in a fit of laughter, he found himself keeled over in hysterics beside Marco as he threw up, simultaneously rubbing his back. Marco picked his head up drunkenly, smiling a bit too.

“It’s not funny! That was fucking disgust—“ he turned back to throw up again, sending Jean into another laughter attack.

When he was finally done, Jean went to go find him some water to wash his mouth out with. “Look at you, laughing your ass off at me not able to digest your grease-ball sludge food…” Marco moaned, sitting down and leaning against the leg of an unoccupied table. Jean sat down next to him, wiping away his tears of laughter. To spite him, he took a bite out of his own cheeseburger and beamed.

“I’ll have you know that cheeseburgers are an excellent source of protein! You don’t know what you’re missing!” He chuckled, gulping it down. After he said this, Marco seemed to be staring out the side of his eye at Jean’s abs (totally visible due to the tight white t-shirt he so strategically picked out). When Jean noticed this, he felt himself sitting up a bit taller with an odd surge of confidence.

“Is it okay if we run back to my place so I can brush my teeth?” Marco asked, covering his mouth with one hand. “I feel disgusting.”

Jean tried not to laugh anymore, biting his lip to fight down the giggles, as he helped Marco get up and they walked a few blocks back to Marco’s apartment. It was a studio up above a book shop in an old building. When Marco told him he lived there, Jean was bewildered, having visited the book shop several times in the past three years he’d been in France. His place was modern and styled in a minimalist design. There wasn’t an inch of dirt or dust in sight—in fact, it was so neat, it didn’t look as if a single person had ever lived there.

Marco made Jean a cup of tea and told him to sit anywhere while he brushed his teeth. As Jean waited, he glanced around the apartment shyly, noticing pictures of his huge family decorating the walls and his t.v. stand. He wondered for a moment if he Marco brought back a lot of guys here. Why wouldn’t he? He was so charming and confident, not to mention a perfect mixture of sexy and cute. He picked up Jean before he even talked to him!

“Alright. Minty-fresh,” Marco appeared out of the bathroom, flashing his pearly whites. “Want to head back to the fair, or would you rather grab a bite to eat that _doesn’t_ make me throw up?”

Jean rolled his eyes and chuckled, getting up from Marco’s white leather couch and walking with him to the door. “I’m down for lunch.”

“Oh, but you had the burger…are you still hungry?”

He snorted once. “Are you kidding? I eat like six times a day, otherwise I have no energy for my workouts.”

Once again, Marco eyed his body over nonchalantly. Jean smirked, loving the subtle admiration. As he reached for the door handle, Marco yanked him back by wrist.

“Are we forgetting that I didn’t enjoy my cheeseburger?” Marco beamed up at his sexily, his eyes turning a dark shade of brown. “I know it’s not behind that shady old booth, but this’ll do right?”

Eyelids fluttering, Jean felt his heart skip a beat. Of course he’d remembered! He just thought _Marco_ forgot, with all the up-chucking he’d been doing! A heat rose up to his cheeks, coloring them bright red as he stared back at Marco. For some reason, he felt incredibly shy. Maybe it was because they were alone in Marco’s apartment and lights from the windows were shining on him, or maybe because he’d been put on the spot.

“Come on, a deal’s a deal!” Marco’s expression changed a little once he realized how hesitant Jean was being. It wasn’t in a disappointed way or anything, rather childish and teasing. “You can kiss me on the cheek if you’re afraid of the puke—“

He couldn’t help it--the way he’d been building up Marco’s lips in his mind had been driving him crazy. Passionately, he took Marco’s face and pressed his mouth against his, kissing him slowly at first, then growing in intensity as he shoved his tongue through. He allowed himself to move his hands through the back of Marco’s hair, then down his neck and his back. Marco held him back by the waist, smiling into their kisses a little. It was sort of odd for Jean—he was never really into kissing or hugging or holding hands…he actually wasn’t really into much of anything if it didn’t involve getting off as quickly as possible. When he was with women in high school before, they were just so stoked that they’d get to be sleeping with the most popular kid in school, that they’d do pretty much whatever he wanted without complaint while he sat back and enjoyed the feeling. When he was with the few men he’d been with, it was the same situation—he got what he wanted. He didn’t care a shit about anyone he’d been with. He didn’t need romance—for the longest time he believed he wasn’t built for that. During his early years in high school, when he tried to come to terms with being gay, he figured that all gay men only cared about sex anyway, not for legitimate relationships (this was entirely based off of the fifteen minutes he saw of a popular gay t.v. show). He thought that whenever he would grow up, if he were to live life as an out person, he’d just fuck a bunch of dudes and that would be it. But then he’d watch his parents together, or even his sister with her new boyfriends. Cuddling on the couch, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears, kissing softly underneath arches...No matter how much it looked appealing to him, no matter how much he wanted those things in the past, he beat himself up and tore himself down and told himself he was disgusting and didn’t deserve it. Gay people were sick sinners, and any romance they experienced wasn’t genuine. But as he stood here, one hand on Marco’s face, the other smoothing down his back, his heart beating softly in his chest, his mind only focused on how wonderful it all felt, he couldn’t imagine this being a sin, or fake, or in-genuine. This was the most real thing he’d ever experienced. And he wanted it all. Holding hands, cuddles, embraces, even a loving stare would do. It wasn’t even that he was completely okay with himself, either. It was the simple fact that Marco made him want to be okay with himself. He brought on more than the desire for sex…but all of the things that came before, and all of the things that followed.

How long they’d been kissing, Jean didn’t know. He was so completely enamored that he didn’t realize how loudly Marco’s stomach had been rumbling for a few seconds. Curiously, he pulled away, their arms still wrapped around each other. They met eyes, blinked for a little bit, then laughed lightly as his stomach growled yet again.

“Come on, I know this great Chinese place a few blocks from here. I totally want lo mien now.” Jean said, releasing Marco from his arms and stepping out the door.

The rest of the date had gone so incredibly well. Whenever Jean walked, it was as if he was on a cloud. His head felt as if it had been filled with helium, and his face was burning pink from all the laughing and smiling he’d been doing. After they finished eating, they took a walk down around a park, not even realizing where they were going because they were talking so much. It was in the evening, the sun setting, when they’d gotten lost and took a good half an hour trying to figure out how to get to a familiar area. Even that was all in good fun. Jean had told Marco he needed to work on his French and got him to ask locals for directions (even though he did have to step in and help a few times). When they made their way back, Jean was so bummed that they’d have to be separating soon that he asked Marco if he wanted to come up to his apartment for a drink. It wasn’t even like he intended it to be anything more than to continue their talk, and Marco didn’t take it that way either. They walked up to his place at around ten, Jean breaking out two bottles of his oldest red wines and two glasses. It could have been the fact that they didn’t eat dinner because of their late lunch, or maybe just because Jean was having such a great time he didn’t realize how much he’d been drinking, but he became completely inebriated within the first hour they’d been up there. At first, Marco didn’t really seem to notice, for he thought that Jean had let his guard down a little more since they were in public. But when Jean had grown much, much flirtier, touching Marco’s knee and shoulder every few minutes, laughing hard at just about everything Marco said, he realized just how drunk he was.

Marco sat back with a smirk, wanting to get as much out of Jean as he could now that he no longer had a filter. “So,” he started while Jean fiddled with his wristwatch. “What do you normally do when you’re not over at Celsa?”

“I ‘unno. Work out. Read. Do side work,” he leaned his cheek against the back of his couch and blinked up into Marco’s eyes. “Grab a drink. Watch a movie. Sleep. Eat. I’m a boring guy, what can I say?” His words started to fumble together and slurred. He spoke with a thicker French accent the more drunk he was, which Marco found incredibly sexy.

“I don’t think you’re boring!” Marco scoffed. “You’re just a regular guy! And I can imagine how crazy the work at Celsa must be!” He glanced around at the stacks of papers and books lying all over his apartment. His place actually would have been pretty clean if it wasn’t for all of his research and journalism studies strewn around. Just as he was about to turn back to Jean, a paper bracelet on his coffee table caught his eye. He squinted and leaned forward, finding Jean’s name, a barcode, date (probably his birthday), and “Poison Control” written in French printed on it. He blinked a couple times, not thinking too much of it.

“What’s this?” He asked innocently, not expecting anything other than food poisoning. Jean’s flirty expression had retracted as he saw way Marco was now holding. He picked his head back up and sat up as straight as he could.

“Oh. Tha’ss just my reminder. I like to keep it there to remember.”

“Remember what?” Marco read the bracelet more clearly now. Another date listed by the barcode was stated as only a few months prior. “Were you in the hospital for something recently?”

Jean looked away, placing his chin in his palm. “Yeah. I overdosed and had to stay there for a few days.”

“Overdosed?” Marco winced, still not getting it. “On what?”

“Heroin…”Jean’s voice came out in a squeak. Marco stared at him, not sure if the blush on his cheeks was from the drinking or the embarrassment. “But I don’t do that stuff anymore, see? Tha’ss why I hafta keep it as a reminder. Tha’ss why I’m getting better, because I could only go up from there.”

            Marco set the bracelet down, feeling as if he was in very dangerous territory. Sure, he’d tried a few drugs back in high school during his party phase. He never understood the hype, feeling like he was always paranoid whenever he took them, always experiencing bad trips. Still, they weren’t exactly days he liked to talk about. himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to—“

            “No,” Jean shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I was messed up, right? So messed up. I mean, I still am…but I don’t want you to know that.” He half-smiled, and then looked away again.

            “How are you messed up, Jean?” Marco asked. He started to hate himself for prying like this…and if he felt like he was going too far, then he’d stop. But at the same time, he wanted to know everything about Jean…so he couldn’t help but try to figure out all of the little puzzle pieces that made up his life.

            “I’m messed up from this—“ he pointed his hand between the two of them a couple times. “From me. Because my entire family hates fags…and they don’t know. So I pretend, right? I’ve been pretending, and it screws me up. And…and I hate myself all the time…” he groaned, leaning his forehead against his wrists. “Why am I telling you this! I don’t talk to people about this stuff!”

            Marco suddenly felt extremely guilty. “Jean I’m sorry. We totally don’t have to talk about this. Let’s just change the subject, okay? Sorry.”

            “Iss okay. Because I feel like I should talk to you about it! I’ve never told anyone! Not even my twin sister! See…I overdosed, right? And Johanna stayed with me for a few months after words and my 16 year old brother Jakob came to help take care of me. And I didn’t want to tell them why I was depressed, or why I wished that I was dead sometimes, or why I did drugs to escape. Because they knew I did drugs. That’s how I had sex with girls. That’s how I got through high school without killing myself. And Johanna knew about me too, maybe not all the way, maybeshe never let herself fully believe it, but she did. Because she called me a faggot once, when we were drunk and I tried coming out to her by calling her boyfriend cute. And even though we’re so close, I know she hates me!” Jean clenched his jaw in anger, her fists tightening. “She’s the one who found me. I was having a seizure, and she was coming to surprise me. So she was screaming and brought me to the hospital. And she called my younger Jakob from New York and said to come over so when I got out of the hospital they would help me be happier. They never even told my parents and just said that I was sick and she couldn’t take care of myself. Not that they care. They got mad at me for choosing to study journalism instead of playing football, even though I got into Celsa which is the most selective journalism school in the world, but whatever. Anyway…they barely talk to me…” Jean was rambling, but Marco didn’t care. He had no idea that Jean had been hiding all of this under his skin. “And it sucks because I love them so much…and they love me too. But if they found out…they’d hate me. So it was either drugs or eternal darkness for the longest time…” he laughed a little. “I mean, I don’t want to kill myself anymore, but I wanted to back then. I just…I just hated being gay! I still kind of do…because my whole life my family has said gay people are the worst on the Earth…so I’m the worst on the Earth now, right?” He was crying now, catching Marco by surprise. “It’s used to be so hard to get up in the morning, Marco. I moved to France after I got accepted into Celsa, trying to find myself, wanting to live my own life, finally, but I couldn’t even do that. I tried hooking up with guys, but I felt so wrong because of it. Like I should be ashamed. Like I was going to Hell like I deserved! So I’d end up doing more drugs, and drinking, until finally I did too much and I overdosed. And I’ve been better for a long time. I don’t hook up anymore. I don’t even see anymore. I live quietly. And I try not to do drugs…as hard as I can I try. That’s when I look at the bracelet, you get it? So I don’t go back to that person. I wake up and don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore. But I’m still sad. I still have the after-effect…ahh. That was too much. I talked too much. I’m sorry.” Jean shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands and getting up to walk away. Marco stood up, pulling him back and telling him it was okay, that talking about it made it better and that he didn’t need to be ashamed about his past. However, while all of the physical stuff was happening, Jean accidentally ran into the quarter full wine bottle and knocked it over onto his carpet. He kicked it in frustration, causing it to shatter. Once Marco realized Jean couldn't be spoken to in a rational way, he walked Jean to his bedroom, helped him get to sleep (it only took a few minutes), then went to tend the mess the best that he could. He was going to head home and call Jean in the morning, just as he was putting on his shoes, he heard Jean starting to throw up, so he turned around and decided to watch over him for the rest of the night. When Jean fell asleep on his side, Marco curled up in the big armchair by Jean’s window, unable even close his eyes.

 

            Jean woke up a good seven hours later, his head and body screaming. A small bit of sunlight had peeked through the bedroom window, but it felt like a death ray as he opened his eyes. Even the shuffling from his blanket had an amplified sound enough to rupture his eardrums. How much had he drank last night? He froze. Did he say something stupid to Marco?

            He peeked his eyes open, looking for his cell phone in case Marco had called or texted him, but instead he found Marco himself, curled up into his armchair, snoozing silently. He used his sweater as a blanket and had stolen one of Jean’s pillows from his bed. Jean felt his head spinning even more as his heart rate increased. Marco stayed over? How bad had things gotten?

            Only a few minutes after Jean had seen him, Marco blinked his eyes awake and sat up straight, groaning at the crick in his neck. “Good morning,” he yawned. “How are you feeling?”

            “Um, okay. No, that’s a lie. I feel like shit…what happened last night?”

            Marco’s eyes were wide for a moment, like he was surprised, then he rubbed his hand over them sleepily. “Want some water?” He asked, ignoring Jean’s question. Jean sighed but nodded, realizing how dehydrated he was. After Marco left and came back with a glass, he sat down on the edge of Jean’s bed unthreateningly. “So, um, I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but you told me a lot last night.”

            Jean could feel the color draining from his face. What? What could he possibly have told him? _All_ of it? God, why couldn’t he remember?!

            “I saw your bracelet on the coffee table out there, your hospital bracelet, and you told me all about your overdose and addiction…and why you were addicted. Do you remember any of that, by chance?”

            He moaned, folding over and placing his head in his hands, too ashamed to look at Marco. “Oh, God.” He mumbled. “No, I don’t remember. God, I’m an idiot.”

            “And, um, you told me about your family and your fight with depression…” he said softly, placing a hand on his knee.

            “You don’t have to say anything else, Marco,” Jean groaned. “I know I’m pathetic, okay? I’m working on it. I know that I’m a mental mess and that I need to grow a lot—“

            “But that’s not what I was going to mention at all,” Marco said softly. Jean lifted his eyes to meet his. “I just wanted to say that…well you mentioned that I was the only one you’ve ever told about your life, and I think it’s good that you’ve got it all out. Sometimes that’s all it takes to feel better, or at least it can be the first step. I think you’re really strong for moving on from your addiction and trying to get better. Listen, I know I barely know you, but I feel like I care about you so much already. You seem like an amazing person who has lived so much, and you should really be proud of what you’ve gone through. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to stay by your side and watch you beat these struggles, watch you realize that you’re a great person. Maybe as friends, maybe as something more. I’m not the type of person to just bail, okay? I want you to know that.”

            Like he always did whenever someone was kind to him, Jean felt himself slowly retreating. “I don’t need your pity,” he mumbled, looking away. “I don’t need you to stay because you feel like I’m going to kill myself or something if you don’t.”

            Marco didn’t say anything for a bit, moving his hand back into his own lap. “Why do you think I’d be that type of person? Why can’t I just be someone who cares about you and wants to stay regardless?”

            Oh, God. Why was Marco being so perfect? That was the only response Jean could have ever imagined hearing… He took a sip of his water, trying not to break down and cry. His throat swelled up and eyes began to water, so he looked away and said nothing. Not wanting to give Marco the wrong impression, however, he gave a slight nod and slid his hand on the space on the bed in between them, trying to find Marco’s own hand. Marco seemed to register this immediately, taking his palm, interlacing their fingers, and squeezing tight. After a few, miserable, silent minutes, Jean choked out a croaky “thank you,” a few tears escaping down his cheeks.

            They sat on his bed, Jean wiping away his tears every once and a while, Marco squeezing his palm now and then. Eventually, Marco got up and mentioned something about how he had to go to work in less than an hour, but to call him or text him next time he wanted to do something. Jean was still too ashamed to even look him in the face, so he mumbled a pathetic “okay,” and turned his face as Marco walked away.

            He was falling, and he was falling _hard_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one is lighter, I promise.  
> \--J


	3. I Want Every Other Freckle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean attend a wedding. Things become...er...passionate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to change the rating for this one. Warning--ill-written smut lies ahead.   
> Edit: I can't seem to figure out why the formatting (indentations) of the chapter is kind of messed up? I'll try to fix it later when my internet doesn't suck. Sorry if it's annoying!

“Hey, Jean, can I ask you something?” Marco set his fork down across the dinner table from Marco. His face had suddenly grown serious, which was extremely rare considering he smiled even when he was by himself.

            “Yeah, go ahead,” Jean responded, still shoveling food into his mouth and glancing out the restaurant window at the rain.

            “Well…and you can say no if you want to…I was wondering if maybe you’d like to join me next Friday for my friend’s wedding. It’s one of my girlfriends from high school, and she and her husband-to-be planned this elaborate wedding at the Ritz-Carlton and her whole family and our friends are coming over. I mean, if you want to go, you don’t have to act like you’re my date if you don’t want to. We could pretend we’re friends and I’d be fine with it. Otherwise…all of my friends know I’m gay and they’re cool with me bringing a male date. You wouldn’t have to worry about covering up or anything. You could just be yourself.” His face had gone slightly pink as he spoke.

Jean stared back at him, completely nonplussed. It had been a few weeks since they had started officially seeing each other and they spent nearly every single day in each other’s wake. He hadn’t met any of Marco’s friends that he so often talked about, and plus he wouldn’t exactly mind spending an entire romantic evening next to him, dancing and drinking. Still, he had never been even remotely public with another man before. Even with Marco, there was always subtle touching or kisses in the dark. The thought of just holding hands with Marco in public sent shivers down his spine.

“I’d love to go with you,” he said in a voice that sounded so unlike his own, “as your date.” He added, looking back out the window again.

“That’s great news!” Marco exhaled nervously. “It’s going to be pretty formal, and I’m wearing a light gray tux with a lilac tie and pocket square to match the other bridesmaids. You can wear whatever you want, but a tux would probably be best—“

“You have to match the bridesmaids for the wedding?” Jean asked, screwing up his face in confusion. Marco blinked at him for a few seconds, just as confused as Jean was.

“Well, yeah, I’m a bridesman. Didn’t I say that earlier?”

Jean shook his head, feeling his throat constrict. Although he tried to spare himself the pain of comparing his life to others, he couldn’t help but feel jealous of Marco. It seemed everyone in his life was completely aware of and okay with the fact that he was gay. Even his own friends didn’t care if their own families knew! And in hindsight, they probably wouldn’t care either. _God, he’s lucky,_ Jean thought miserably.

“That’s really sweet,” Jean said, dismissing his uneasiness. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bridesman in a wedding party before. Oh, and I’ll make sure to rent something before next Friday. What time is it?”

Marco beamed at him, glad he was taking it so well, and continued to chatter on about the rest of the details.

 

Although nervous, Jean ended up feeling pretty excited as he counted down the days for the wedding. He ended up renting a simple black tux and bought himself a new olive tie and waistcoat. His excitement couldn’t be shared, however, as Marco spent every minute of his free time with the bride-to-be and the bridesmaids getting ready for the wedding.

When the day finally arrived, Jean got up early to go to the gym and pick up his tuxedo. He skipped his usual coffee, figuring that he was already jumpy enough and caffeine would just make it worse. About an hour before Marco had instructed him to arrive, Jean took a shower, got dressed, slicked his hair back with some styling gel, and took a cab to the church where the ceremony was being held.

Many of the wedding guests were waiting outside, talking lightly with one another. Jean realized how awkward the entire situation was at that moment. There was not a single person there that he knew—not even the bride or groom. People eyed him with a keen interest, his attractive appearance always stealing multiple glances whether or not people knew who he was. He figured their stares were more of awe and less of judgment. It was seldom that people knew every single person that attended a wedding—but even in most cases they’d have at least one person to talk to. Just as Jean was getting ready to sulk in silence and head inside, he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders.

“Hey! I’m so glad to see you made it!” Marco’s voice rang in his ear. Jean spun around with delight that he could finally talk to the single person he knew. As soon as he laid eyes on him, his heart thumped heavily in his throat.

Marco looked as handsome as ever. Sure, he was a stylish man, but their outings were always casual and this was the first time Jean had ever seen him dressed so formally. His hair was slicked back like Jean’s, but parted on the side for a fair bit of volume. He face was clean-shaven, making it the first time Jean had ever seen him without his slight stubble. His tuxedo fit him perfectly—looking as if it was made for him. However, no matter how nicely he was dressed, Jean had never had a stronger desire to see him naked.

Horribly aware of how red his face was getting, he cleared his throat and allowed himself a tight-lipped smile. “Hey,” he greeted back kindly, finding it hard to think of anything else to say. Marco’s cheeks had turned slightly pink, looking him over the same way Jean had done to Marco just seconds before. He shook off his expression quickly, taking ahold of his forearm and leading him down the stairs.

“Let me introduce you to some of my friends, okay?” He smiled as he pulled him up to a good looking group of three bridesmaids and two men. Jean didn’t even have time to freak out about meeting some of Marco’s friends for the first time, so he threw on a toothy grin as quick as he could. The group stared back at him, their mouths in small but kind smiles as they did so. “Jean, these are my great friends from high school. These three lovely ladies here are Sasha, Krista, and Annie—“ Jean reached forward to shake each of the blushing and giggling girls’ hands at this point. “—and this is Connie and Armin. We all go way back. Everyone, this is my date Jean. He’s a France native but is actually from Trost City back in New York.”

Jean had just finished shaking Connie’s hand when he gasped. “Trost! I thought you looked familiar! Were you the kid on the football team who was in the starting varsity lineup as a freshman when they won state finals?”

Jean nodded politely, a painful stab at his guts when he thought of his athlete past. “Yeah, that was me,” he tried to appear as humble as possible, but the five of them just gazed at him even more appreciatively now. Marco seemed to have picked up on Jean’s uneasiness and he steered the conversation in another direction.

“Funny enough, Armin and Annie here are a couple, as are Sasha and Connie. Armin and Annie are actually getting married next fall, won’t that be fun! And Krista, where’s Ymir?” Jean watched as Armin threw his arm around Marco’s shoulder in a friendly manner. Another pang of jealousy hit him straight in the heart. Marco could be so close with his friends—two of whom were straight men and seemed absolutely fine with his homosexuality. Wasn’t being gay supposed to be a lot harder than this? Or was Marco just immune to any kind of pain in the world?

“Oh, she’s off with her parents. Ymir is Hannah’s cousin, so you’ll see her in the wedding,” Krista added politely for Jean’s sake, referring to the bride. Jean felt a slight pang at his ribs. So, there was a lesbian couple in Marco’s friend group, too? Just how open-minded was Sina Springs, anyway?

“It’s funny, Marco here is the only one who isn’t dating or engaged to someone from our hometown.” Sasha laughed lightly.

“Probably because anyone he dated from Sina was an absolute asshole,” Connie rolled his eyes. “Here’s to hoping he’s finally found someone worthwhile.”

Jean felt his entire body go hot in embarrassment. Marco seemed to be feeling the same way, his face suddenly going pale. After the group gave their affirmative response to Connie’s comment, Marco growled hopelessly, “Oh my God, guys, shut up!”

            Jean allowed himself to laugh along with the rest of the group, no matter how unfunny the situation seemed to be to him. They spoke for a few more minutes until Marco checked his watch and said they had to go rejoin the bride. As the girls were saying goodbye to their respective partners, Marco pulled Jean aside to insist that he come with him to meet the bride and groom before the wedding. Reluctantly he agreed and allowed himself to be pulled along inside the church and down the hallway.

            “You’re still friends with your group from high school, huh?” Jean asked as they zigzagged through the many different corridors. Marco shook his head, his eyes much more sparkly than normal.

            “We haven’t been friends since high school—we’ve been friends since preschool. Actually, It started out with me, Connie, Hannah, Ymir, and our other friend, Hitch (who couldn’t make it to the wedding). Through different times in school we met Armin, Annie, Krista, and Franz—“ he referred to the groom. “—and we’ve been a complete group ever since middle school. I was the only one who didn’t date within the group, obviously. Connie was actually the first person I ever came out to. And they’ve all been great with it. When some upperclassmen found out I was gay and wanted to pick a fight with me, Armin, Connie, and Franz got in this huge fight with them to protect me. They’re all a huge reason why I was accepted at school. Regular straight boys were absolutely fine with the way I was…they never questioned me or felt uncomfortable with me. I think when all of the other kids saw that, they got over it too and treated me like a normal human being. Oh, here are the groomsmen!”

He immediately changed from dreamy eyed to alert and excited. “Hey, Franz! Hi guys,” Marco ran up to the groom, a tall, tan, handsome man with kind eyes, then waved to the rest of the guys. They didn’t seem to be offended by him at all—instead they just waved back as friendly and politely as ever.

            “Oh, so you’re the man we’ve been hearing so much about!” Franz smiled and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. I hope you have fun tonight.”

            “Thank you—and congratulations,” Jean added. He tried to appear as cheerful as he could, but all he could think about was the fact that Marco talked about Jean to his friends. What did he have to say? ‘S _o I met a guy who is pretty much a walking disaster, but he’s hot so I want to keep it up’_? Suppressing a shudder, he knew that there was no way Marco felt that way about him an was completely enamored again by all of Marco’s delightful surprises.

            As Jean was busy thinking all of these things, Franz had pulled Marco off to the side a little and was speaking in soft tones. Jean could still overhear, however, and looked around and the charming dressing room to appear busy while he listened.

            “Listen, Marco, I just want to tell you how grateful for everything you and your family have done for Hannah and my wedding. From the planner, to the cake, to the amazing venue hook-ups, to the photographer…none of this would have been the same without you.” Jean winced when he heard Franz’s voice crack emotionally. Had Marco really done all of that? “I can’t tell you how important you are to the two of us—“

            “Hey, save the tears for your beautiful bride. You know everything you’ve done for me is worth so much more than anything I could ever give you. And that goes for Hannah too.” They hugged in a brotherly way, Jean unable to avert his eyes at this point. Marco stepped away and the two of them said goodbye to the entire room, then made their way to the bride.

            At first, he felt as if it wasn’t his place to ask about what Franz had said, but his journalist soul had got the better of him. Marco simply raised his eyebrows, acting as if it was simple small talk.

            “Oh, both of their families have been going through some financial trouble. They had everything all planned out—it was pretty much the same but with some different locations and different people. When they no longer could afford it, they had to let go of their dream wedding. As soon as my parents found out about it, you know, they wouldn’t stand for it. They covered a good portion of the wedding and got a lot of their friends to help them with some of the other details. Their parents tried to pay mine back, but they just told them to consider it a gift. I mean, it really wasn’t that much when you count in the fact that all of the people working the wedding are paying back my parents in some way or another.” A soft and forlorn look had taken over his face. “They’re incredible people. I wish you could meet them some day, too,” he gave a quick, shy glance at Jean, then spoke in a regular voice once again. “I mean, they’d be here, but my sister’s in labor with her third child, so they decided to forfeit their tickets at last minute. OH. MY. GOD. HANNAH!” Marco’s voice had raised ten times the regular volume as they opened the door to the dressing room where the bride was.

            She was a vision in white—a huge dress with a flowing train and veil. She had long ginger hair and a light splaying of freckles across her nose, along with bright green eyes which reminded him so much of his sister, Josette. All of the bridesmaids, including the three that had been standing outside, were all dabbing their eyes at the image of the beautiful bride. Marco had come forward to squeeze her in a hug, forgetting about Jean for a moment. He didn’t mind, though, just laughed and felt so incredibly warm as he watched it all happen. It was odd, but after finding out more about Marco’s life, he didn’t feel as jealous as he did before. Instead he felt hopeful—not that his life could be like his someday, but that these people, all of the people who loved him so much, would think that Jean was finally the right person for their wonderful Marco.

            After a few seconds of squealing and cooing, Marco peeled away and yanked Jean forward, introducing the two of them quickly. Hannah was polite and sweet, and it already seemed like she knew quite a bit about Jean. Just as she was asking him where his family currently lived in Germany, Hannah’s grandmother walked in the door and told them the ceremony was starting in ten minutes. Jean brought it upon himself to say goodbye to everyone and find a place to sit.

            The wedding, although beautiful and classy, was dull and boring for the most part. This was partly because he didn’t know either of the people getting married (well, not really) and otherwise because he didn’t much care for weddings in the first place. He did enjoy watching the ceremony with glassy eyes and a forlorn expression, sometimes catching Marco’s quick and obvious glances. It was over within thirty minutes, and while everyone rushed outside to congratulate and take pictures with the bride and groom, Jean held back for another twenty minutes or so, when he was sure that the bridal party was going to be moving on to the hotel for the reception.

            As he was about to leave, he caught sight of Marco again and said he’d see him later, but Marco blinked back at him. “Aren’t you going to ride with us? You do have a seat up at the main table with me, you know.”

            Jean wasn’t expecting this. His entire body became somehow sweaty and cold at the same time. If there was anything he didn’t like, it was having all eyes on him. Sure, he was used to it in high school, and the stares that regularly followed him due to his good looks was a common occurrence, but the spotlight, in any case, was nerve wrecking. That’s why he wanted to be a journalist—he recorded people that had the attention on themselves, not him. And now he was supposed to be front and center with everyone’s eyes on him, surely wondering who he was. Not only that, but he was supposed to be up there as Marco’s date?! Marco’s gay date?!

            “Uh,” Jean replied, suddenly torn between staying still and bolting towards the nearest airport.

            “Come on, you can squeeze in the limo with us. They made sure to have enough room for my plus-one.” He gave an affectionate smile and led Jean yet again in another direction.

            So Jean spent the next half an hour riding with the bridal party, meeting the rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Marco always made a point to include Jean in their conversations, which really wasn’t a problem because they were all such pleasant people to talk to. Plus, there was a fine selection of champagne to keep them all busy during the ride (in which they were caught in heavy traffic), and Jean felt much more relaxed by the time they made it to the reception.

            The wedding planner peeked his head in the limo when they arrived at the hotel, telling them which order to enter the ballroom. Since there were six bridesmaids (including Marco) and five groomsmen, they were all going to enter with opposite sex pairings, followed by the bride and groom last. To Jean’s immediate delight, the dates would all join them at the table later, since none of their names had been prepared for the announcer. The planner told Jean it would take about 3 minutes, after he had asked, and suggested either going in now or waiting for it to be over. He took it upon himself to just wait outside and smoke a cigarette while he waited to calm his nerves even more.

            Jean joined the party a little later than he had expected—one of the bridesmaids’ dates broke out a premium cigar for them to share. When he entered, however, he felt himself transported to one of the most elaborate weddings he had ever seen. It was just like something out of a fantasy movie. Apparently the theme was a whimsical winter, as the floor, walls, and ceiling were all white with a blue hue effect gleaming from the lights above. Long crystal chandeliers and ceiling decorations imitated an icy frost everywhere. Lining the room were naked Birchwood trees draped with twinkling lights. Each of the circular round tables, draped in fine white silk, had beautiful white rose centerpieces and warm crackling candles. In each corner of the room was an ice sculpture of a deer in different poses, lit up by alternating colors of blue and purple. Next to the largest ice sculpture, which was of the bride and groom and was surrounded by a smaller circle of the trees was the wedding cake, the largest that Jean had ever seen. The dance floor, in the center of the room, was one that alternated cool tone colors and had snowflakes projected on it. DJ equipment was poised next to it unused; for the meanwhile and string quartet was serenading the guests as they looked over their dinner menus. Jean took a couple steps forward underneath a silver snow encrusted archway, over the white bridge and makeshift yet realistic ice pond, and weaved himself through the other dazzled guests to the main table.

            The main table was just as beautiful as the rest of the place. Seating about twenty people, it was long and white and faced the rest of the crowd on a slight platform. Underneath the flowing tablecloth, the platform lit up colors of purple and blue. Two large white trees were at either side of the table, the tops extending out so far that they met in the middle. The branches were also decorated with glistening lights, but floating candles were also attached to some of them in a most breathtaking display. There were large white flowers in ornate vases, surrounded by small candles all around between every placemat. In the middle where the bride and groom were, there was a small silver tree with a few more candles attached to it.

            Jean kept walking, noticing that there was a twinkling of fake snow (in actuality it was just white glitter) on the floor and showering him. He took a seat next to Marco, too stunned to even notice if anyone else was staring at him. Jean couldn’t imagine what Marco’s parents considered as “not much” when they helped pay for the wedding, because from just the decorations alone it looked as if it were a couple million dollars.

            “Incredible, isn’t it?” Marco leaned over and whispered after Jean had spent five minutes gaping and ogling. Jean nodded wordlessly, looking down at the table and finding that the white tablecloth was covered in white rose petals and crystals.

            “I can’t believe your parents helped out with all of this!” He gasped, picking up his menu and glancing at it. Each of the entrees alone would have been fifty dollars or more.

            “Like I said, they’ve got a lot of friends everywhere who were more than willing to help out.” Marco said lightly, sipping on his champagne (which also glowed blue due to the lights).

            “Are your parents’ friends billionaires or something?!” As he asked this, a group of white-clad fairylike acrobats spun and twirled around the tables. Whenever they moved, they left behind droppings of snowy glitter.

            Marco shrugged and kept a tight lipped smile in a humble response, turning to the waiter in a white tuxedo and giving him his food order.

            The reception went of quite like others Jean had been to. A lot of speeches, crying, laughs, toasts, and eating. Just like they had during the wedding, Jean’s eyes glazed over and he ignored most of what was going on, watching distractedly as the fairy acrobats changed poses next to the ice sculptures. Marco’s speech was the only one he really listened to all the way, with the exception of the bride and groom’s.

            “Hi everyone,” he greeted, holding a white microphone. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Marco Bott, and I’m Hannah’s one and only bridesman—“ he was interrupted, by Jean’s surprise, to enthusiastic cheers and applause. “And both Hannah and Franz’s good friend since elementary school.”

            “He was my friend first!” Hannah yelled into her microphone.

            “Just because he was your friend first doesn’t mean he likes you better!” Franz argued back. This was met with a round of laughter. “Not many of you know this, but my wedding gift to Hannah was Marco as her bridesman. We had been arguing about who got him on their side for months!” He laughed along with the crowd this time.

            “Hey now, I would have gone with Hannah anyway! It’s all about the bride isn’t it?” Marco giggled. After the laughter had died down, he returned to his speech. “Anyway, I can’t say that there’s anyone in this room more deserving of love than these two right here. They’re two of the most beautiful, special, big-hearted people. Each of them care about everyone else before they even begin to think about themselves. I’m sure there’s not a single person in this room who hasn’t been touched one way or another by Franz or Hannah…and I’m only one of the special people amongst us to be treated so wonderfully by both of them. It all started in kindergarten with Hannah found out my rabbit died and she helped her mom make cookies for me every day for three weeks to help me cheer up. Then in the second grade, when I fell off the monkey bars in gym and broke my arm, Franz carried me to the nurse, then rode with me to the hospital. He visited me every day and even a night on the couch next to me. He was also the very first person to sign my cast!

            When we got older, they were both so supportive and protective of me. If I was ever getting picked on, they’d be the first to make sure the bullies got a taste of their own medicine—but we won’t go into the details there!” There was more laughter for a minute. “No, really. These two have saved my life in one way or another so many times, I can’t even begin to explain the depth of my gratitude. And the amount they love each other—wow. Franz, I’ll never forget when you were introduced to our class in the second grade. You stared right at Hannah like she was the most beautiful girl in the whole world, which, let’s be fair, she totally is, and Hannah you stared right back! When you two were the first couple of our entire grade in middle school, everyone saw it coming. Nobody thought a couple could be more perfect for one another. And when you two broke up for a week in high school because Hannah thought she was moving away, the entire school was so devastated and in disbelief that they tried with everything to get the two of you to stay together! It’s been such a pleasure and honor watching the two of you grow up with me, and watching your love grow and blossom over the years. Let us raise a glass to Franz and Hannah. May you live the rest of your lives together in the upmost happiness in return for the joy you have spread in each of our lives. I love you both so much.” He raised his glass and drank, the rest of the room following suit. Both Franz and Hannah were in tears by the time he finished, and they each gave him a huge hug and kiss on the cheek.

            Nobody wanted to follow Marco’s speech, so the bride and groom each gave a word of thanks and love to everyone who had attended the wedding, although they were still in tears from Marco’s words. When they had their first dance, Marco and Jean watched from behind the table, Marco’s hand eventually finding his and squeezing it tight.

It was finally time to let the real party begin once most of the huge events were done. Jean was so buzzed on nicotine and champagne that he didn’t have to think twice about dancing with Marco and his friends. They played a collection of great music that instantly boosted Jean’s mood, along with the spectacular lights and dance floor. Many of the bridesmaids delighted in dancing on him, as did some of the giggly female wedding guests that he didn’t know. Still, every once and a while, Marco would make sure to snatch him back and laugh, telling the girls that Jean was his date and not theirs, therefore he had all dancing privileges. It was indeed interesting to act freely amongst these people. Marco was certainly right when he told him that the friends and family there wouldn’t care that they were gay. For most of the night they held hands and danced crazily with one another. Every slow song they were in each other’s arms, and once in a while Marco would lean over and give Jean a soft kiss on the lips or cheek. Nobody so much as batted an eye at them, with the exception of a few kids, and even then Jean would overhear their parents calmly explaining that two men are allowed to love and kiss each other the same way a man and woman do. Were this many people in the world really that relaxed against the idea of homosexuality nowadays? Or was it just the families and friends that Marco grew up with? Jean couldn’t find the energy to care. He’d never lived like this before. He felt safe in the company of all of these warm and friendly people.

After the bride and groom threw the bouquet and garter (Marco had caught the garter on accident and dropped it in mild shock and disgust), the string quartet came back to play a nice rendition of At Last by Etta James. Marco and Jean were dancing together again, one of Marco’s hands on Jean’s shoulder, the other in his hand, and Jean’s other hand on Marco’s back. They were muttering in hushed voices about whether or not they thought one of the waiters nearby was hot or not when Hannah yanked Jean out of Marco’s arms.

“Sorry, can I borrow him for a second?” Hannah had already set herself up with Jean the way Marco had before. Marco looked stunned for a second, but Franz had already swooped him up and started dancing with him instead. They each smiled at Hannah and Jean and began dancing on their own.

“So, Jeannie,” Hannah blinked up at him. Jean couldn’t help but smile back. She really was a beautiful girl—possibly close to his own dear Johanna. Plus, she was one of the nicest people he’d ever met. Marco was right when he said the bride and groom put everyone else in front of them. Multiple times, Hannah would ask him if he enjoyed the food and drink while they ate. She also made sure to stop by throughout the night and ask if he was having a good time periodically, probably because she knew how disconnected he was to everyone else and wanted him to feel as if he were truly a part of everything. “I must say, you’re one of the most handsome men I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

When she said this, Jean noticed briefly how her breath had an alcoholic tinge. Her face showed it was nothing more than a light, happy buzz, so he allowed himself to feel a bit less anxious. “As you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and certainly the most beautiful bride.”

Although she knew he was kidding, a slight blush tinted her cheeks. “Now I have to ask you something,” she asked quietly, making sure they were standing far away enough from Marco and Franz. “What do you really think of Marco?”

Jean was caught off guard by this so much he stopped dancing. “I—what?”

“Be honest with me, Jean. He’s one of the best guys I’ve ever known, and same goes for Franz. We both love him to the moon and back…actually everyone does. He’s got a knack for picking out guys who treat him like shit. But…I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.” They started dancing again as the initial shock had worn off. “And I’ve never seen anyone look at him the way you do, either.”

It was Jean’s turn to blush this time. He didn’t answer for quite a while, unable to formulate a response. He opened and closed his mouth periodically, then glanced over at Franz and Marco. They both smiled and winked, having a light-hearted discussion of their own. When he turned back to Hannah, his face had grown solemn. “Well first off, I just want to say that he’s the first guy I’ve actually ever…been with.”

Hannah’s eyes grew at this, just like Marco’s had when he told him before. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” He said shortly. “I’ve only come out to three people officially in my life. One was an old girlfriend, one was her brother, and one was Marco. I’ve been so scared of coming out of the closet that I—“ he stopped himself and shook his head, not wanting to get into it. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Marco makes me ignore all of that stuff. I’ve never been so excited to live life before. It’s all because of him.” He exhaled a shake breath, looking back at him. Franz was spinning him around in circles while they laughed breathlessly. Two little girls next to them were trying to do the same. “All of it.”

“You better mean it, then,” Hannah said with a wobbly voice. Her eyes were filled with tears when he looked at her, but her face was broken out in a wide smile. “We’ll all be waiting for him to find the right one. I just hope it’s you. Treat him the way he treats everyone else, okay? And love him the way he deserves.” The song was over, so they stopped dancing again. She kissed him gently on the cheek, which he returned happily, and Marco was back at his side again.

The night had become wilder after the children and elderly people returned to their hotel rooms. Drinks were flowing around everywhere and some more risqué fairy acrobats came out to perform. They had released the fake snow over the dance floor, which they all thought it would be fun the drunkenly toss up in the air as they danced like maniacs. They’d all been dancing and having such a good time until two in the morning, when the bride and groom decided to retreat to their honeymoon suite and the hotel staff announced that the rental period for the room was up in five hours (meaning that the wedding crew had to dismantle all of the props and decorations). Marco and Jean walked out into the calm fall air, the effects of the alcohol worn off almost completely.

“How’re you getting home?” Marco asked, his hair covered in glittery fake snow and his face still permanently pink for the last three hours.

Jean shrugged, stuffing one of his hands in his pockets and slinging his tuxedo coat over his shoulder with the other. “I figured I’d grab a taxi or walk to the subway, I guess.”

“Well you know, you could always crash here with me,” he suggested, his voice much quieter now. His deep brown eyes stared into him, creating an odd sensation behind Jean’s belly. “The hotel staff offered the entire bridal party 75% off suites for the night, so I went ahead and got one. I know it’s over an hour away and everything, and if you’re tired—“

“Okay,” Jean answered in something less than a whisper. Yes. Hell to the yes. He’d been dreaming of spending the night with Marco for weeks now. They’d only so little as had some heavy make out sessions, and Jean was sure if they abstained from doing anything sexual for much longer he was going to explode. No matter how nervous he was to be doing something with another man sober for the first time, he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in life.

Marco smiled, not looking as nervous anymore. He interlaced his fingers with Jean’s, walking back inside and into the elevator. They walked calmly side by side down the hallway once they’d gotten to his floor, not saying a single word to one another out of pure excitement. When they reached his suite Marco let them both in and turned of the lights. Jean only gave it a small glimpse, seeing that they were standing in the living room and off to the left was the bedroom and bathroom. After that, he was on Marco in the blink of an eye.

He pushed him to the wall, kissing him hungrily, holding his hands on the sides of his neck, pressing his body up against his. Their tongues meshed together as did their spit and sweat. Sure, the little pecks they’d shared all night were sweet, but he was tired of sweet. He wanted hot and sexy. He wanted all of the low and deep groans that Marco kept making. He wanted Marco’s lidded eyes that had been pausing to roll over him all night. He wanted that little flicker of his tongue he used to wet his lips before he spoke sometimes. God, he wanted all of Marco right here and right now.

Jean moved his lips and tongue to Marco’s neck, sucking hard against the soft and fleshy skin, not caring about the dark marks he left against his pale complexion. He unbuttoned Marco’s shirt a little, coming to suck on his collarbone while reaching behind to grab his butt. Marco threw his head back and moaned, beautiful sounds Jean had only dreamed of before. Jean was panting by the time he kissed his way up to Marco’s mouth. Every breath he took kept getting stuck in his throat. Before this, even when they kissed heavily, it was never as intense as it was now. The noises Marco made weren’t this loud or sensual. His body movements weren’t this needy. Even when Jean pushed his forehead against his to stare him in those gorgeous brown eyes, Marco had never carried such an expression of pure ecstasy. His mouth hung open slightly, lips and chin covered in drool, his eyes only half open and his lids heavy, the most insane desire dancing behind his pupils. Jean nibbled softly on Marco’s lower lip, then, unbuttoned his way down Marco’s shirt and smoothed his hands down from his rugged abs to his lower stomach.

It was with shaking hands that he unbuckled Marco’s belt and tossed it to the ground. While he did this, he kissed him on the jawline, hoping that Marco couldn’t feel how insanely his heart was beating against his chest. Just as he tugged on the waist of Marco’s pants with trembling fingers, he stopped kissing him and realized exactly what he’d been doing.

He was going to be intimate with a man sober…for the first time ever. It may as well have been the first time sober or drugged, as he couldn’t even remember the handful of other guys that had given him hand jobs or blow jobs either. Not only that, but he was going to be doing it to someone else this time…not even once had he ever touched a man’s body.

Marco must’ve sensed his hesitation immediately, because after only a few seconds, he nudged Jean’s face away from his own and raised his eyebrows. His face was still red and sweaty, his eyes still mere slits, but underneath all of that, his voice was soft and gentle, a whisper similar to one carried when trying not to wake another person.

“It’s okay, you know,” he said gently, causing Jean’s spine to tingle all the way up and down. “It’s okay if you do it, and it’s okay if you don’t.”

Jean shook his head, leaning away a little so he could watch Marco better. Slowly, he managed to steady his hand the best he could, and unzipped Marco’s pants before sliding them down his legs. “I want to,” he replied. “I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life, Marco.” His entire body was shaking by the time he pulled the waistband of Marco’s underwear down. There was a crazy amount of warmth that radiated from Marco suddenly. Jean looked down then, his jaw dropping immediately at the sight of him. It was swollen and standing tall, slick and bobbing with Marco’s heartbeat slightly. Jean swallowed a large gulp and bit his lip, not able to look away. He didn’t expect it to be this…big!

He touched him with soft fingertips first, dragging them along the head and shaft, thumbing the slit a little. Not moving his tilted crown, Jean lifted his eyes to look at Marco again. He had changed completely. Both of his lips were sucked into his mouth, his teeth sinking into them to keep him from yelling out. His eyes were squeezed shut and his eyebrows curled in pleasure—and Jean had barely even touched him yet. Feeling slightly excited, Jean closed his entire hand around him and began to stroke, kissing him on the mouth and forcing his tongue back through Marco’s mouth.

As soon as his lips had opened, Marco let out another moan, although this one was much longer and higher pitched. Wanting to hear it again, Jean closed his hand tighter and picked up the pace. To his delight, Marco groaned again. This time however, he said Jean’s name. Jean suppressed a shudder. His own name sounded so sexy and incredible coming from Marco’s throaty voice. At this point, he worked even harder, desperate to hear his name pass through Marco’s saliva coated lips. It kept coming, too. Over and over again in different degrees of pleasure; sometimes heavy and long, sometimes short and breathy. Marco had dug his fingertips into Jean’s hips, but when he was getting close, he moved one down to Jean’s wrist and the other up to his neck. It was the oddest sensation ever. Not in a million years did Jean ever think that he’d be so turned on by pleasuring someone else. Hearing him, watching him, feeling him…it was nearly enough to make Jean reach his breaking point. It had become his mission in the last thirty seconds or so to make Marco’s orgasm a spectacular one. He pulled and tugged quicker and harder, Marco’s legs shaking and his eyes watering in delight. Finally he came right into Jean’s fist, unable to keep standing while he did so. He pressed his forehead into Jean’s broad shoulder and threw his arms around his back, whimpering as Jean coaxed him out of the orgasm.

When it was over, Marco lifted his head up to kiss him again, moaning softly as their mouths meshed together. “Holy shit,” he mumbled against Jean’s cheekbone. “That was a hand job if I’ve ever had one…Jesus, I want to do that five million more times before I die.” His voice seemed to be permanently deep and throaty, so unlike the usual chipper tone he carried.

Jean peeked around while Marco panted with his arms around him, looking for a tissue or towel of some sort to wipe his hand off on. He noticed a box of Kleenex on the coffee table about twenty paces to the right, but as he was about to move for it, Marco was kissing him again.

“It’s your turn, now,” he said to Jean’s undeniable hard-on. “Here,” he slipped a handkerchief into Jean’s hand. As Jean wiped himself off, Marco kicked his own underwear all the way off, removed his shoes, his tie, and the rest of his shirt. Jean couldn’t help but stare at him, his naked body the most beautiful thing he’d ever been privileged to lay his eyes upon. Marco noticed his intense glare and smiled, biting his red and swollen bottom lip. He turned around and walked slowly to the bedroom. Jean stared at his ass for a minute while he walked away, then broke out into a near sprint to follow him.

Marco was waiting on the bed when Jean entered, his legs dangling off the side. Jean didn’t even look around at the room—all he could focus on was Marco in front of him. Beautiful, sweet Marco, naked and satisfied and ready to satisfy... He had to pause in the doorway and hold on to the side of the wall just to keep standing.

“Come here,” Marco said so softly and sweetly it was as if he came straight out of a fairytale. Jean walked forward on wobbly and childlike legs. It was almost surprising to Jean that by the time he reached the bed, he was still more than a mere puddle. When Jean sat down, Marco placed a tender hand upon his knee and moved his fingertips up his thigh. As he did this, he moved forward to pepper small and warm kisses just underneath Jean’s jawline. “Mmm…you’re so beautiful, Jeannie.” Jean could no longer hide the tremors passing down his spine due to the high-pitched and sensual tone of Marco’s voice. “I want to make you feel good…” Marco was panting now, working steady fingers across Jean’s body and unbuttoned his shirt. He unbuttoned Jean’s pants and pulled them off without hesitation, too, then clambered onto his knees in front of him.

Jean looked up for a minute, torn between feeling too shy to show his face and too turned on and excited to reach forward and grab the back of Marco’s head. Marco had stared at Jean’s stiff penis in the same kind of amazement that Jean had stared at Marco’s before. His jaw had dropped and his eyes were round and wide. He didn’t take any time to second guess himself the way Jean had, though. Only milliseconds later, his hand clamped around his length, his tongue licking the top of his head, and his other hand dug his fingernails into Jean’s waist. Letting out an embarrassingly loud and squeaky moan, Jean felt his entire body emit a single jerk which left his legs shaking afterwards. Marco’s mouth gave Jean pleasure he could have never even dreamed for himself. The fleshy insides of his mouth sliding against his shaft, the flicking and teasing tongue pulsing against his head, the low and guttural noises coming from his throat. He curled his toes into the carpet below his feet and squeezed his eyes shut. His moaning had started to sound like pathetic and uncontrollable whining as he begged nonverbally for Marco to keep going. He was melting into the bed below him, falling onto his back and pressing his palms to his eyes. He never wanted this to end. Marco’s mouth, his body, this room, he wanted them all on repeat forever until he was dead.

Marco stopped blowing him, using his hand to replace his mouth while he dragged his tongue all the way from his lower body to his collarbone without picking it up. Once he hovered over Jean and placed his legs on either side of his body, he stroked his tongue along Jean’s and breathed hard into his mouth. “Fuck me. I’m ready again,” Marco moaned. At this, Jean could feel Marco pressing hard against his abdomen. “If you want to, that is…I want to feel you inside me…Shit, I fucking need it, right now.”

Jean couldn’t think anymore. All he knew was that this was an absolutely amazing idea. There were no hesitations, no second thoughts, just Marco ducking in and out of the room for a condom and lube and Jean scooting up further on the mattress. The few minutes that followed happened in a dizzying flurry of action. Jean was ripping open the condom and rolling it onto himself while Marco was rushing around to turn off the lights. When he got back onto the bed, he swung his leg over Jean’s bottom half and started to kiss him tenderly. Jean smoothed his hand down Marco’s back, stopping at his butt as he lifted him upwards and began to enter him. They both let out groans, although Jean was sure his was loud enough to shake the bed. None of this mattered, though, as now Jean’s hips were thrusting forward at an almost involuntary fast pace. Nothing was comparable to the feeling. Pleasure beyond pleasure…the most immeasurable amount of ecstasy. After a while he had moved on top and thrown Marco under him so he could move harder and faster. There was no way he was going to last long when it felt like this.

“Oh, fuck, Marco!” Jean gasped, slamming into Marco over and over again. He couldn’t help but wrench his eyes open to look at the man below him. Sweet, beautiful Marco. His sparkling brown eyes and splay of freckles and wide smile…There was nobody else on the planet he could want to do this with. Nobody he could love half as much as him. “Uh!” His hips bucked forward and his entire body clenched as he came. For a minute he was blind and deaf, unsure of what was happening around him besides his own orgasm. As he came out of it, he noticed that Marco had come too, soaking Jean’s lower stomach while he dug his fingers helplessly in Jean’s hips.

Jean collapsed on Marco’s body when it was over. He breathed so heavily it almost sounded like he was wheezing, but he was in such a dreamlike and hazy state that he didn’t care what he sounded or acted like. Actually, there wasn’t much of a thought in his head at all—only satisfaction as he felt himself come down.

Marco pushed Jean off of him with trembling arms, taking a minute to take off the condom and toss in in the trash. Jean lay on his back, chest still heaving up and down, and watched Marco in a loving gaze as he crawled back over to him and curled up to him. Stroking his hair away from his forehead, Marco stared into Jean’s eyes, his expression very much mimicking the way Jean felt inside.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “That was amazing.”

Jean still couldn’t find the words to talk, so he just took the back of Marco’s neck and pressed him down, meshing their lips together. Their kisses were no longer hungry and sex-driven. Now, they had returned to the tender softness that they usually were. Marco’s lips were as warm as the sun, waking him up from his dream of pleasure and unclouding the thoughts in his head.

He sat up so quickly, Marco was thrown onto his back. Jean blinked rapidly and came to terms with what just happened. He just had sex with another man. Intense, passionate, loving sex…He knew for a fact, even with his drunken hook-ups, that he’d never done that before. Now it was over. His entire life of hoping that someday he could manage to be straight, or that he’d try with everything not to make love to another guy…fall in love with another guy.

“Jean?” Marco beckoned with a voice that sounded miles away. Jean whipped his head around to look at him, forgetting that he was there. His eyes were wide with concern, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. After a while, though, it seemed like Marco understood exactly what was going through Jean’s head at the moment. He stretched two arms forward to hold him, hoping to calm him down, but Jean stood up so quickly the blood rushed to his head and nearly pulled him back down again.

“Uh, sorry, I just need to uh…” he patted his naked legs as if wearing pants with pockets. “I just kind of want to have a smoke.” He said without further explanation, hating the heartbroken look on Marco’s face.

“Um. Okay.” Marco had brought his knees up to his chest and was starting to cover himself with the blanket. When he drew his eyes away from Jean’s, Jean knew he was starting to fill in some thoughts of his own. He took it upon himself to grab his cigarettes and lighter from his pants pocket on the floor, throw on his underwear, and walk outside to the balcony, closing the door behind him.

He couldn’t explain what came over him. For just a moment ago all he wanted to do was take Marco in his arms and hold him close. Now all he could feel was a strange guilt in his stomach. He couldn't imagine how horrified his mother or his father would be to learn their precious boy, not only was he gay, had had sex with another man. They’d think him a freak, one unworthy of being a part of the family. They’d disown him, curse him for being a treacherous sinner, and banish him to live in Hell with pedophiles and murderers…

Jean pressed a clammy palm to his forehead, trembling again. He’d already gone through three cigarettes since he’d been outside and alone with his thoughts, on the brink of tears and wishing he could retreat to the temporary relapse of drugs. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out there, or even what time it was, only that it had been quite a while since he’d been alone. When he heard the sliding door of the balcony below him, he turned only slightly to see Marco standing halfway between inside and outside, a white sheet draped around his shoulders. His appearance so reminded Jean of when he used to go swimming in Nice with his siblings and his father would wrap each of them in a white fluffy towel when they were done, as if in a cocoon. This memory didn’t make him feel any better though, and neither did the image of Marco. The confused and curious look on Marco’s face struck Jean with another sense of guilt and pity. He’d left Marco all alone in bed with not even a word, especially after how fantastic their lovemaking had been.

“Hey,” his voice mirrored the uneasiness in his face. “How’re you holding up? Want anything to drink, or—“

“No, no, it’s okay.” Jean turned back to lean against the railing, stubbing out his current cigarette and lighting another one. “I’m okay, I just…” He couldn’t continue. Both of them knew very well how untrue this was. A few seconds after Jean failed to finish his response, Marco walked up to the railing. He stared out into the night sky and twinkling lights of Paris, unspeaking and keeping his distance. Jean didn’t want to look at him.

“Was it,” Marco spoke after so long that Jean actually jumped. “something that I said? Something that I did?” His voice quavered like he was going to cry, but when Jean turned to him, his expression was stony.

“No! Marco, of course not!” Jean’s voice caught at the end of his sentence. He didn’t know what to do, now. It was like the two conflicts in his mind were battling at one another, trying to see which could make him feel worse. There was his family and his former self, cursing him for being a faggot and acting on it. Then, there was Marco, who was the perfect man in every sense and somehow managed the sometimes cold and harsh treatment from Jean that came at the absolute worst times. He couldn’t understand why Marco hadn’t left him yet—or would now be the time? “This is just…I’m just…” His voice was wobbling so much that just hearing how weak he was has brought tears to his eyes. Jean gave a big sniff, covering his face and cursing himself for being so pathetic. “It’s not you,” he croaked after a few miserable minutes of his soft crying.

Marco didn’t move forward to touch him or try to comfort him. Jean supposed that this was because he wasn’t sure how Jean liked to be handled in these situations and was probably still confused as well. Instead, he turned around and opened the door. “I’ll be in bed if you need me,” he said in an incredibly soothing voice. “If you want to talk or just want to lay down without saying anything, I’ll stay awake until you come back inside, okay?” With that, he was gone.

Jean wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand out here, depressing himself and worrying Marco. All he knew was that nothing in the remote future was going to change either of these thoughts or make them easier. But if he knew anything about himself, it was that he always managed to push through the shit life handed him. And right now, one of the only rays of sunlight he’d ever been awarded was sitting and waiting for him, ready to accept him for absolutely anything. He stubbed his half smoked cigarette, pushed it back into the case for later, followed Marco after only a few minutes. He was indeed still awake, a faint smile stretched across his lips as he watched some late-night t.v. program. Jean didn’t turn to see what it was; he just curled up in bed next to his lover, feeling the radiating warmth bouncing off of his skin, tucked a hand inside of his robe, leaned his head up against his shoulder, and felt the fatigue of the day take him almost immediately. Marco was laughing at the show as he absentmindedly covered them both in the thick comforter and let his other hand stroke Jean’s hair, who was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sudden smut--if you liked it, yay, thanks! If you didn't, it'll probably be the last that is this detailed. I felt rather embarrassed as I hid in my room to write this, and it's not something I'm particularly good at. ;) Anyway, hope you liked the chapter. The setting of this wedding is actually based off of a wedding I went to a few years ago--most extravagant and expensive wedding I've ever been to, and will ever go to, I think!


	4. To Tell You The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean have a late-night conversation, where they find out more about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from "Pusher". I listened to it on repeat while writing this chapter. I think it'd be nice to listen to it while you read, too ;)
> 
> *Warning* Strong language, including homophobic slurs.

Jean plopped onto his back, staring at Marco a minute before reaching for his cigarettes on his nightstand.

            “I’m going to smoke really quick. Be right back.” He cleared his throat and stood up, reaching for his scattered clothes on the floor. It had been two weeks since they had first slept together, but a part of him still felt uncomfortable just cuddling around and whispering sweet nothings into each others ears. It was even harder for Jean to come to terms how deeply he was falling in love with Marco and escaping after they had sex, even if for a few minutes, made it easier not to grapple the awkward truth of reality.

            “No, don’t go!” Marco cried, reaching forward and grabbing his hand. The dreamy look in his eyes that had been there only moments before was still there. Jean felt an odd pang at his chest, not able to stifle his smile.

            “I know you hate the smell of my cigarettes. The only reason I go outside is so you don’t fill up on the unfiltered secondhand smoke!” He half-lied. Nicotine was one of the few things that could calm down his racing heart whenever he was with Marco.

            Marco pulled on Jean’s arm harder. “I don’t care. I just want to be with you right now, cancer-inducing smoke and all. Stay in bed with me.”

            Jean grinned, no longer able to resist. He pulled his ashtray out from under his end table and lit his cigarette, laying his back up against his headboard and taking a long drag. Marco snuggled into his shoulder, pulling the blanket up to cover them. He didn’t say anything for a while and Jean believed him to be asleep, but sooner or later he moved to wrap his arms around Jean’s waist and tangle their legs together, wanting desperately for every inch of their skin to be making contact with one another. He couldn’t help it, but Jean felt strangely relaxed. There was no feeling of drowning in his own sin or no desperate need to stand outside for ten minutes in agonizing silence. He just wanted to lay here with Marco forever, happy and in peace with himself. With Marco, all of the pain of being who he was seemed to slip away and just resolve around him. And for right now, Jean was fine with that.

            “So tell me, Mr. Bott, how many men have you had, and what were they like?” Jean wrapped his free arm around Marco’s shoulder tightly, asking the question that had been pressing him ever since they’d met. Marco glanced up at him, surprised Jean was being so brash.

            “Do you mean actual relationships? Or just the guys I’ve had sex with?”

            Jean couldn’t help but feel jealous of unnumbered amount of people that had been in Marco’s life prior to him. “All of them.”

            Marco snickered. “Well, there was my first. He was my first everything—first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. I was a sophomore in high school and I had been out at school for almost a year, so whenever someone knew someone else who was gay they would try to hook me up with him. I was still too shy to go on any dates or anything before him, but when one of my girlfriends randomly introduced me to her gay older brother, I fell for him immediately. His name was Brad, he had his great, curly blonde hair, a strong, hockey player build, these pretty blue eyes,” he laughed again, squeezing his arms around Jean even tighter. “Oh God, I thought he was the best thing I had ever seen. Anyway, he was a Junior in college already, so I was surprised when this super hot guy, who could get pretty much anyone, asked me after a couple of dates if we wanted to make it official. So we dated for a while, or should I say, we fucked for a while. That’s all he ever wanted to do. He never wanted to go out to the movies, or out to eat, he refused to introduce me to his friends or family, even after I introduced him to everyone I knew, no. Honestly, I never thought just having sex would become so boring, but it did. There was a part of me who wanted a real, romantic relationship too, you know? Anyway, I found out after six months that he had been sleeping with tons of other guys on the side. Honestly I never thought I’d be so happy to be cheated on. It just gave me an excuse to finally break up with him!” They both laughed, Marco feeling nostalgic and Jean trying to picture how cute Marco as a teenager. “You know what? I actually saw him like three years later dating another young high school kid. I think he just dated the young and vulnerable ones because he knew they’d be too scared they’d never have another boyfriend or something. So there was that,” he sighed, pausing while Jean took in a long drag and turned to exhale. “I never dated for the rest of high school, which was fine because I had a lot of friends. When I got into college, though, and actually experienced living among a whole community of gays, I hooked up a lot. Not dating, just hooked up. I went on a few dates, most of them just ending up with me sneaking out of their bedrooms in the morning. It was fun to see what kind of guys I was really into, and what kind of guys I would never want to see myself with again, but after a while I decided that I wanted to have a serious relationship again.”

            “Before you go on, give me a number of those hook-ups. I want to know how much you played the field in college.” Jean smiled down at him, an odd jealousy that he had never experienced seeping through his pores. Marco laughed, smacking his abs.

            “Hey! I was just experiencing different types!”

            “Number?”

            “Fine,” Marco huffed. “If I remember correctly through all of the drunken haziness…fourteen? But I didn’t sleep with all of them! I only slept with like four. The rest were just blow jobs, or making out, or none of the above. Can I talk about my second boyfriend, now?” Jean exhaled again, coming to kiss the side of his head, encouraging him without words to go on. “So, one of my friends had set me up with one of their friends that supposedly had all of the same interests as me. I agreed, because, like I said, I wanted to have a serious relationship where it was more than just sex. His name was Parker, he was really cute and down-to-earth. We hit it off right away and started dating like, three weeks after nonstop texting and tons of dates. I really liked him, too. After two months of dating, he tells me out of nowhere that he’s moving to South Africa in four days to pursue hands on charity work and he wanted me to go with him. At first I thought he was kidding, but when I realized he was serious I had to calmly tell him that he was taking things way too fast for me, and that there was no way I could leave my family or school or job in four days, not even four months. Then he got really angry and defensive told me he never thought anything serious was ever going to come from our relationship anyway and walked out the door, and I haven’t seen him since. Honestly, I seriously am glad I got out of that when I did. I am pretty sure he was part insane or something.”

            Jean thought nastily that he was glad none of these relationships seemed to appealing and knew that so far, he seemed to rank higher than anyone Marco had been with so far. “Were there any more?” He asked, wondering for the eightieth time that day if Marco considered him am actual boyfriend or not.

            Marco hesitated, then sat up straight. “Yeah. My last official boyfriend. His name was Kevin and we dated for about a year.” Jean examined his facial expression, blowing out another puff of smoke and turning to face him fully. “Actually, we broke up just a few months before I came here.”

            Jean could feel his throat constricting. He _just_ got out of a relationship? “Do you want to talk about it?”

            “Yeah, no it’s okay, it’s all water under the bridge.” Marco mumbled, looking troubled. “Actually, do you mind if I have a drag of that?” He asked, pointing at Jean’s cigarette. Shocked, Jean handed it over and watched as Marco sucked in a long and deep inhale. He’d never seen Marco look so nervous and hesitant in the whole time he’d known him, so it did come as bit of a surprise. After Marco began coughing out a few uneven puffs of smoke, he gave the cigarette back to Jean and began talking. “So, um, we were actually friends since high school. He was one of my girlfriend’s cousins from another school, and whenever we saw each other we always had a lot of fun talking or pulling shenanigans because we had so much in common. And, you know, he was so cute, and one of the first gay people I’d ever met, I had the hugest crush on him for like, ever, but knowing him the way I did, I always thought that he was off limits because of our friendship and everything.. When I went to college, I lost touch with my girlfriend from high school, so I lost touch with him. Then, while I was still dating Parker, we randomly saw each other in this coffee shop and became friends again, maybe even better this time. He was so there for me after my break-up with Parker, too, not trying to win me over anything, but actually as someone who listened and dealt with my sadness in that time. I think it was natural for us to fall for each other after it all, you know? Then after this building of holding back because I was newly single, we had this amazing, romantic night together, and it started from there. I never thought it would be as amazing as it was. We were always together, we met each others families and friends, we started living together. Then slowly, I started to realize how different the things we wanted were. I mean, I’m no one to turn down sex, but I mean, it was all of the time. Then slowly he started bringing up how much he wanted to have these other people in bed with us, and how he thought it would be so hot if we could film us, or if he could film just me. And I thought it was kind of hot and kinky for a while, but then I realized it could never just be me and him anymore, no strings. After we had been dating for almost a year, he brought up how much he was interested in the two of us sleeping with another couple, or maybe just another person, and I told him that I would never want that again. I just wanted us. He was quiet for a few weeks after that and I thought things would be okay later, but then I found him with someone else and it just went straight to Hell. He didn’t apologize for anything. He told me that he still loved me, but he wanted the liberty to be free and have an open relationship. That’s when it ended. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted there to be one person for me, and one person only, and he wasn’t willing to be that person. So, no matter how much I knew I’d be miserable, I let him go.”

            Jean bit his lip, taking it all in. It became evident that Marco’s experience with relationships was so much more than he ever expected. He’d experienced not only love, but heartbreak and pain, which was so much more to say than Jean himself had ever experienced. Still, there was a deep and burning desire for Jean to prove to Marco he could be better than his past relationships. He wanted him to be in love like he’d never been in love before. He wanted to show Marco that _he_ could be the one and only person for him. “Do you miss him?” Jean asked.

            “Not really. But what really bothers me is knowing how down I was during that time. I was so taken advantage of, so walked all over, and I didn’t care because I wanted to make things work. When I think about how I felt and who I was at that point, it brings up some really unpleasant and horrible memories and feelings. I never want to feel like that again.” Marco let out a heavy exhale, then smiled. “It feels good to talk about it. I’ve never told anyone all of this before.”

            Jean felt his cheeks warm. When he thought before that Marco was such an open and welcoming person with so many close friends to share his intimate secrets with, here he was, being the only person to know the painful emotions that lied inside of him. That was all it took for Jean to realize how much he loved Marco. Nobody in the world could ever make a single secret feel like he was so deserving, so important in someone else’s life. “I’m glad you could talk about it. I think just saying what you’re holding in makes you feel so much better. And I’m glad you could share all of this with _me_ ,” Jean cleared his throat, finding it hard to talk. He leaned down and kissed him softly, heart beating pleasantly against his ribcage. When they separated, Marco beamed up at him and cuddled into his body again. Jean finally put down his cigarette and held him back with his entire body.

            “Tell me about your experiences! I bet you were a real ladies man in high school!” Marco nudged him with a bony elbow.

            “Of course! I had to play my football star, homecoming king, testosterone-raging character for almost eight years. There were so many girls, Marco. I think by the time I was a Sophomore I’d slept with at least a third of the ones in my grade and about five in the grades under and above me. I was a huge player, what can I say?” Jean felt so incredibly light talking about it with Marco. Normally, he felt so ashamed when he thought about the beginning of his dark and depressed years that he never looked past all the stupid stuff and could actually laugh at himself.

            “Didn’t that turn girls off though? You being with all of their friends and classmates?” The twinkle in Marco’s eye reappeared.

            “No! I totally thought it would, too! I had my first few girlfriends, all for appearances, but then I started to realize how upset girls would get with each other for sleeping around, so I thought I could fend them off by acting like a sleaze, and it totally didn’t work! They just came after me, one right after the other. As soon as I dumped one, her friend would call me just hours later. By the time I was almost done with Junior year, I just stuck with one girl, who honestly I couldn’t stand but she was incredibly beautiful, for like six months. I just couldn’t take her ridiculousness anymore. Then, I stayed with another girl for eight months. She was nice, and we were friends. Still are, actually.”

            “Oh. Well if you liked her so much, what happened?” Marco snickered, batting his eyelashes playfully.

            “I went over to their house for dinner and met her gay older brother from college. After dinner, he called me back to their house at like one in the morning and after I came running like an idiot, he told me he knew I was gay and to stop messing around with his sister. Then he said that once I got into college I would be comfortable in my own skin, and to not sweat the small stuff. After that, he kissed me and sent me on my way.”

            “He kissed you?!” Marco gaped. “Oh my God! Was he hot?”

            “Yeah, he was hot!” Jean smiled recalling the memory. “I couldn’t look at him that whole dinner we had because I was afraid the eye-contact would make me pop a fucking tent!” They both laughed. “No, really. He had these nice, broad shoulders, strong jawline, pretty, green eyes, wavy brown hair. Ugh, he was like a model to me back then.”

            Marco laughed again, running his hand through Jean’s blonde hair. “So, that’s your type, huh?”

            “No, _you’re_ my type,” Jean said a bit too quickly. He felt his face burning with embarrassment, but Marco didn’t seem to care. He just smiled coyly with his eyes staring deep into Jean’s, obviously pleased. “Anyway,” Jean said, quieter now. “I think he just kissed me to help me realize all that I had been trying to push away. And it worked. I broke up with Janet the next day, and I never saw her brother again.”

            “So does this ‘Janet’ know about you and the conversation with her brother?”

            “She doesn’t know what happened with her brother, but I felt like I owed her the truth when I broke up with her. She was the first person I verbally came out to, but I think that’s because I felt safe with her. And she’s been so, so sweet ever since. Never told a single soul. Like I said, we’re still friends. Not best friends, but we catch up every now and then.”

            “Well. How very sweet.” Marco sighed. “Tell me, now. What was the sex like?”

            “I didn’t sleep with him! I told you, we just kissed—“

            “No, I mean with all of those poor, insecure high school girls!” Marco laughed. Jean flicked his nose playfully, loving the way Marco’s eyes lit up when he was amused.

            “Honestly…I was high on something every single time. Even the first time. Hell, I was so nervous I would slip up, I needed to snort something just to keep me from blurting out the fact that I didn’t want to do it. Then it was just a habit after that. Get high with or without her, have sex, abandon her while she was sleeping and go cry in the shower like a pathetic loser. And honestly, I didn’t even have hetero sex that often. A lot of the time it was hand jobs and blow jobs. Those were so much easier. I took drugs way before, but I didn’t feel as bad afterwards.” He tried to suppress his shudder, thinking of those horrific days. “God. I’d always talk about it with my buddies in high school, in the locker rooms and after practice or whatever. I’d be talking to them about the girls while I tried with absolutely everything not to look at their bodies. Honestly, if Johanna and I didn’t fall asleep together every now and then, I would have cried myself to sleep every single night. High School was a terrible experience, Marco.”

            He did feel a little bad for curbing the mood so quickly, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes, those parts of his life just dragged him down. Pressing his lips together in the silence, he started to reach for another cigarette, but Marco interrupted him.

            “What would they think of you, now?” Marco asked softly, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

            Jean shrugged, sinking back into his pillow and begging non-verbally for Marco to keep touching him. “I don’t know. I don’t care. After high school, even though I was super popular and everything, I made a promise to myself that I would try to love myself more. I stopped the social media stuff, I ignored their texts and emails, which got easier after I moved to Paris, and I stopped talking to them all together. Johanna will mention one of their names every now and then, still living in their old glory days. Some of my closer friends might be understanding if they found out. I know more than half of the guys on the football team would be super offended, though. For the most part, we lived in a mainly white, Christian, Conservative, Republican town. It would be hard to believe many of them being okay with who I am.”

            “Euch. Sounds like a nightmare. Well,” Marco nuzzled his nose into the crook of Jean’s neck. “You’ve got me now, so you don’t have to think about all of that bullshit anymore.”

            “Exactly,” Jean mumbled into Marco’s mouth.

            They kissed for a while, but both of them were too physically drained to make love again, so opted for yet another cuddle instead. “What’s your family like, Jeannie? You always say you’re so close to them. I want to know all about them. The people that you actually like.”

            “Well,” Jean bit his lip, their faces somehow foggy in his mind. “My mother is extremely beautiful. She’s very passionate about many things, her children being one of those passions. She’s really into a lot of typical French things, baking pastries, couture, perfume, wine, but out of all she loves children. Babies, toddlers, children, whatever. Up until age 13 for each of us, she loved spending time playing around with us, setting up crafts and activities, playing with us outside…Then when we grew past that, she really taught us how to hold ourselves as responsible adults. Don’t get me wrong, she was still affectionate with us, just not in the same way. She’s an elementary school teacher, by the way. My father is in finance. He’s an incredibly smart man, and loves what he does as well. Very handsome, very suave, always has a kind look on his face. He was always really into playing football with Jakob and I outdoors, but he didn’t mind being gentle with the girls either. He’s got a caring soul, you know? I think he really loves being a father, too. Oh, and sports, if you couldn’t tell. He put a soccer ball in my hands before I could walk. The only time he ever watches TV besides the movies is ESPN. He loves anything active, I think, which is why I’m surprised he’s in finance, honestly, but whatever. Then there’s my siblings. The youngest, Josette, I’ve never gotten the chance to really know as a person. Johanna and I took turns babysitting her when my mom wasn’t home. When she was a baby, we were already teenagers, though, so I think neither of us minded having her around or anything. She’s so cute, Marco. She and Jakob got my dad’s genes, so they both have dark, tanned skin, and curly, dark hair. She’s also got these pretty, dark green eyes that light up whenever you talk about something she likes. She’s eight now, though, and of course my mom put all of the girls into beauty pageants, so you can tell she’s already getting kind of cocky. The last time I talked to her, she asked me to bring her back an Hermes scarf from Duty-free and that was it. Then there’s Joli. She’s thirteen right now. We spent a lot of time raising her too, but with her it was harder because of course we were younger. She’s still adorable though. I think she’s the sweetest out of us kids. She’s really popular but has a close circle of three best friends, who are pretty much our family, as well. She’s classy, too. Joli always liked to watch mom and see how she carried herself, then would walk around in the same exact way, with a tall back and straight shoulders. Oh, and she’s extremely smart. Sometimes when we’re talking, she’ll bring up a scientific term, and I’ll legit have to pretend that I know what she’s talking about even though I haven’t got a clue.” Jean laughed, feeling light-hearted now that he was talking about his family. “Jakob is seventeen, in high school. He’s a good, strong-willed kid. Like my dad and I, he’s a natural in sports. He’s popular, too. I mean, everyone in our family has good luck in that department, but with Jakob it’s all about an honest kind of friendliness. Joli has her charm, Johanna has her outgoing attitude, and I pretty much just tried to resemble Johanna. Jakob’s different. He’s genuine. When he smiles at someone and tells them to have a good day, he actually means it. That’s what I love about that kid. Plus, he’s totally clean of drinking and drugs. I’m sure it’s because I fucked up any chance in his mind that it might be fun, but still. He’s never even tried it and told me he never wants to. And of course, there’s Johanna. We all call her Joha for short. Well, it’s not just Joha. We all have nicknames: I’m Jean-Jean, Jakob is Koby, Joli is Jo-Jo, and Josette is Setta. Anyway. Joha and I are pretty much the same person. She’s so beautiful, too, Marco, you wouldn’t believe it. Even when she’s got a fever of 100 degrees and has everything wrong going for her, she still looks incredible. She lights up pretty much any room that she walks into, y’know? And you know what’s crazy? We never fought. Sure, there was probably one or two when we were toddlers and fought over toys, but after that there was nothing. Even our family members thought it was strange how close we were, even after spending virtually all of our time together. It got to the point that if Johanna had to go to the bathroom or I had to take a shower, we’d cry our eyes out because we weren’t together. Our parents had made the decision to talk to all of our teachers throughout school to make sure we were never placed in the same classes, you know, so we could learn how to live with out each other sometimes, but even then we would sneak out of our classrooms just so we could sit and talk about the kids in our classes we liked and didn’t like.” He felt the natural warmth when he talked about Johanna, just like he always did. “I could tell her anything, well, almost anything, and she would always be there for me. I knew that we would truly and honestly have to learn how to live apart, though. When I told her that I’d made my decision to move here, she was devastated. It was the first and worst fight that we have ever gotten into. She wouldn’t speak to me for days. Finally I wrote her this long and heartfelt letter explaining how much I loved her, but we needed to learn how to become two separate people, she forgave me and we became close again. It was hard at first. We’d talk on the phone every night and cry whenever we said goodbye to each other. But then she’d get busy or I would, we’d miss phone calls, we’d miss Skype dates, and it happened. It became easier. Of course I still text and email and video chat and call her and all of that good stuff. But it doesn’t feel like I’m dying when she’s not here, you know?” After he finished talking, he let out a deep and heavy exhale. It had just occurred to him that he had talked non-stop for almost five minutes, and Marco hadn’t said anything at all in that time frame. Still, he stared on admirably after Jean had stopped.

            “Wow. I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk since…ever!” Marco laughed. “Really, Jean, they all seem amazing. And it’s great how close you are with them, too.” He paused, looking uneasy about whatever had popped up in his mind. Jean raised his eyebrows.        

            “What?” He asked, running his hand down Marco’s back.

            “Well, I just…I guess I’m—and don’t get mad at me for saying this—I don’t understand why you haven’t come out to them yet.” Jean winced, shocked that Marco would bring this up. He scooted away a little, feeling uneasy now too. Shaking his head, Marco placed both of his hands on Jean’s arms and tried to lighten the blow of his earlier statement. “No, I’m just saying…they sound so amazing and supportive and loving…kind of like my family. Maybe you’re just freaking yourself out, you know? Maybe coming out to them wouldn’t be that big of a deal! From what I’ve heard, if you told them, they’d be totally alright with it.”

            “Okay, but here’s the thing. My family is _nothing_ like your family.” Jean shuddered, feeling awkward about all of the nice things he’d previously said about them as his dark thoughts returned. “Your family is beautiful and sweet and nurturing and caring…not only towards you and your siblings, but to other people too, right? My family gets downright nasty. They’re all extremely religious, first-off. In a normal conversation, the words ‘Jesus’ or ‘God’ or ‘Him’ will just slip in like no big deal. We prayed before absolutely everything, too, and if we didn’t feel like praying or going to church, man did we hear it. It’s not even that the other kids had problems with it either. And I would pretend, you know, just like I did in everything in my life. Whenever we went to church, my mom and sisters would all gossip about the people who weren’t ‘Godly’ enough afterwards. Like, they’re making an effort to even come to church, who are you to judge? Which of course, leads into the whole homosexuality thing between all of them. I think it all goes back to my father. He very proudly ‘Hates Fags,’ and believes that they should all just be exterminated. When he was still in school, he got in trouble for beating up any kid who was gay, who he thought was gay, or even a kid who just said something slightly feminine. Whenever something gay-related would slip into our household, an Elton John song coming on the radio, for instance, he would go on this huge rant about how God put in the bible how gays are pretty much the scums of this earth and that he didn’t want any of that trash under his household. It definitely passed on to the rest of them. Johanna had no problem making fun of girls she thought were lesbians in her school and calling just about everyone a faggot. Jakob loves the good ol’ derogatory gay joke every week or so. My youngest sister, Josette, is getting really bad with it. She wrote a paper in the second grade about how homosexuality is a sin and ruins lives on Earth, and it was so offensive that her teacher had to call my parents in and explain to them that Josette had an ‘acceptance’ problem. My mom won’t really mention it until the conversation is brought up, but she throws in these awfully cruel punches into the conversation about how there’s a special section in Hell for gays. Out of all of them, I’ve never actually heard Joli say a single thing. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s the most into the arts out of everyone and she has more of an understanding or is more open minded, I don’t know. I’ve been too afraid to ask. Of course, I would always try to throw in little jabs here and there, joining in with Johanna on talking about who we thought was gay at our school, but it just ended up hurting too much. I believed being gay was the horrible sin that everyone else in my family did, how wouldn’t I? I knew that I would be going to Hell, and I knew I deserved it, even if I hadn’t acted on it or anything. It wasn’t until my magical kiss did I realize how wrong I’d been, and that all of it was bullshit.” He shook his head, trying to ignore the quiver in his voice. “Every time I think about coming out to my family, a memory of mine pops into my head and slathers it all to pieces. I was fourteen or fifteen, Josette was still a baby, Joli was only seven or so, and Jakob was around nine or ten. We all went out to this really fancy restaurant and had just sat down at our table when our waiter came up. He was a really cute guy, you know, kind of effeminate, spoke in a softer voice with a bit of the stereotypical ‘gay’ accent. I mean, just looking at him, you could tell, you know? He gave us our menus and told us the waters would be coming and asked if we’d like anything else to drink. My dad was so red in his face already. He said no to the waiter in a very curt tone, then after the waiter said he’d be back and wandered off, my dad asked a waitress who was coming by to grab the manager. I remember sitting in my chair, having a gut feeling that I knew something bad was going to happen, but I tried to play it off and stuff my head in the menu. When the manager came over, my dad asked immediately for a new waiter and that he refused to be served on by a faggot, let alone allow his own children to see one. The manager was so taken aback she didn’t even say anything for like, two minutes. When she actually did start to speak, it was all of this stuttering and confusion, because, I mean, who does something like that, right? Finally, he yelled at the manager, asking her why in the Hell such a fine establishment would hire a homosexual on their staff, then told her we were leaving and going somewhere else. As we were walking out, the entire restaurant was just looking at us like we were crazy, horrible people, but I noticed our waiter standing off to the side. He’d heard the whole thing and it was obvious just by the look on his face that he was going to burst out into tears at any second. It was horrible. I can’t imagine how he must’ve felt, you know? And the worst part? My family was so proud of my dad for standing up to the manager in the restaurant, saying they didn’t want to be waited on them either. I couldn’t even say anything. I sat in the back in so much disbelief, knowing at that moment, I would never be able to come out to them. I remember Johanna nudging me, trying to get me to join in, but I just stared out the window, feeling the same way that the waiter looked. They all thought I was disappointed because I didn’t get to eat the steak there, which I lied and said was true, but it was a lousy one, at that. When we got home, I waited a few hours, then snuck out and got absolutely hammered. It was so bad, I had thrown up all down the front of my clothes, and when some of the kids dropped me off, they woke up Johanna so she could give me a shower and get all of the puke off of me.” He dabbed at his eyes a little, finding it hard to relieve that memory, even though he did so often.

            Marco didn’t say anything for a long time, still shocked at the story of his family and of the waiter incident. Jean knew he was probably thinking how lucky he was to have such a loving and accepting family, and that he probably had never heard of any families being as cruel as his. Finally, after Jean had gotten up, gone to the bathroom, grabbed himself a glass of water, put his underwear back on, lay in bed and lit another cigarette, Marco sat in front of him and looked him squarely in the eye with the saddest expression Jean had ever seen him carry. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered, taking ahold of Jean’s free hand and squeezing it tight. It was as if he knew exactly all of the pain Jean had carried in his heart. A family that he was so close to, that seemed so kind and happy, would undoubtedly be cruel and devastated when or if they learned about him. And there was no way out of it, and there was no way that Marco or Jean could lie and think there might be a possibility things would go well. They just wouldn't, end of story.

            “It’s okay,” Jean mumbled, looking away and sucking in on his cigarette as far as his lungs could.

            “No it’s not,” he took his chin so he would look at him again. “I finally understand now. Why you’ve acted this way. Why it’s been so hard for you to want to be with me or do pretty much anything…”

            “I’m going to stop you there, though, “Jean smiled, wiping a dark piece of hair out of Marco’s wide brown eyes. “I _do_ want to be with you. You’re the first person I’ve actually wanted to do anything with. You’re the only one I feel comfortable talking to. You may be right about other stuff…I mean, it is really hard for me to accept myself, and I am a piece of shit when it comes to a lot of other things, but you’re not right about you. I feel like a real human being when I’m with you. I feel like I’m worth something.”

            Sighing, Marco plucked Jean’s cigarette and stubbed it out against the ash tray. “I know you say that but, and I hope you don’t see me as some, like, over-attached psycho or something, it’s never felt like you’ve wanted much out of our relationship.” He said quietly, scooting over to the side of the bed and pulling his knees up to his face. “We only ever hang out after 7 PM and then maybe for a few hours in the morning. Every time we have sex you leave the bed right after for like ten minutes because you’re too afraid to face me. Sometimes you’re too uncomfortable to even look at me in the eyes for more than five seconds. You can be really, really cold whenever you don’t want to talk to me because you’re busy living your other life. Then, other times, you just seem so sad and unsatisfied. I mean, after the time we’ve spent, I understand you’ve got an amazing heart and you’re a fantastic, bright, warm person, but then you push me away and I just…” he bit his lip, his entire body turning red. “We’ve been kind of together for almost two months now, and I guess I’m just confused. And I’m sorry I’m laying all of this on you like this, I know you really don’t talk much and stuff…but I’ll tell you now that I don’t fall for people easily. When I do fall, I fall hard, and it’s never ended up good for me. I’m so tired of being naïve and ending up hurt in the end.”

            Jean blinked at him stupidly, honestly not having any clue that these thoughts had even come across Marco. After trying to gather up the last few minutes in his mind, he cleared his throat and came closer. “My confidence and mental health is something that I’m trying to work on. I know now how important it is that I’m comfortable with who I am inside before I can actually commit to someone else...and I’ve come a long way from who I used to be. But to be completely honest I’m still growing. It’s still really hard for me to accept that I’m the person I’ve tried my entire life not to be. It gets in the way of my daily life all of the time, and then my darker thoughts hang over me like a cloud. Of course I’ve never even dreamed of pushing all of my stuff onto you, and when it does happen I feel like such an asshole.” He shook his head. “Marco, none of what’s going on in my head has to do with you. I promise. A-and I’m falling hard for you too. I want a future between us. I want more nights and mornings and daytime with you. I want more of our T.V. show binges and 3 AM movies. I want your amazing mushroom omelettes and I want to keep making you my famous crackers and cheese.” This evoked a small chuckle from Marco. Jean let out a deep exhale, feeling it easier to talk, now. “In the future, I want walks with you in the park where I feel ready enough to hold your hand. I want to meet your entire, wonderful family and all of your friends. I’ve always wanted to take the next step with us, Marco. But I don’t want to hurt you either. You already know exactly who you are and you’re okay with it. I’m not that person. I’m not even close. So… I don’t know. If you want to wait for me until I am, maybe it’d be easier for you, because part of me thinks that doing this now can only end up dragging you down more than it already has.”

            His smile grew wider and he sat back up, drawing his eyebrows in. “Sorry,” he whispered. “You lost me at ‘I want a future between us.’” He got up on his hands and knees, climbing on top of Jean and kissing him softly on the mouth. “If time is what you need, then I will wait for you until you’re ready. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to be by your side until you are, though.” He kissed him again, running his hands through the back of Jean’s hair until they were both laying down again. “I hope this means I can call you my boyfriend, now?”

            Jean just nodded, his heart so full. He grabbed onto Marco’s wrists, kissing him back whole-heartedly, drinking in the beautiful moment for as long as it could possibly last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapters should be coming in the next few weeks. Thanks for reading!
> 
> \--J


	5. Now Shush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sh*t happens.

_Incoming Call—Marco Bott._

Jean looked down at his vibrating phone, the contact image of Marco’s beautiful freckled face smiling at him on the screen. His heart beat a bit faster, just like it always did whenever he saw Marco was calling him. “Hello?”

“Hello? Jeannie? You at your place?”

“Uh, well yeah—“

“Can you let me in?”

Jean scrunched his eyebrows, walking to the door and opening it. There was Marco, his dark hair gelled and styled, a blue scarf wrapped around his chin. He pulled down his scarf and put his phone in his coat pocket, letting himself in the apartment.

“Geez, it’s cold outside. Can barely even stand and wait for the bus without freezing to death.” He threw his black trench coat on the coat rack and then turned, smiling at Jean for the first time that day.

“Hey,” He ran his hand down Jean’s chest, tilting his head a little. Leaning forward, Marco pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Jean sighed, feeling the stress of the day melt away a little bit, just like it always did whenever Marco even slightly touched him.

It had been a few months since they’d first met, about a month since they’d labeled themselves as boyfriends. Jean had never been so happy in his life. They saw each other almost every day. They both had very similar interests, regularly seeing movies together, visiting art galleries, going to concerts, checking out new restaurants, or sometimes just staying in and talking for hours. If Jean was too busy with school and internship stuff, sometimes Marco would just meet him for coffee or a quick lunch. Plus, Marco spent the night so often that he’d left a toothbrush, comb, and a few spare clothes in drawer that Jean had cleared out for him. In such a little amount of time, Marco had made himself such a presence in Jean’s life, something that had never been done before. He felt like nobody, not even his twin Johanna, knew him the way Marco did. He’d never felt so comfortable being himself around anyone before, so accepted, so…important. Each day he was falling in deeper and deeper love with Marco and there was nothing he could do about it—nothing he wanted to do about it.

Still, things were, for a lack of a better term, awkward. Sure, he’d opened up to Marco more than he had with anyone else. Sure, they made love almost every single night and could barely keep their hands off one another when they were in either Jean’s or Marco’s apartment. But Jean still felt an odd sense of guilt lingering in his stomach. Sometimes when one of his family members called, he’d talk on the phone with them while his arm was around Marco and they snuggled on the couch, or he’d Skype Johanna and Marco would be just on the other side of the computer screen. He never once thought about mentioning Marco or his sexuality to his family, or anyone else for that matter. Whenever they were out in public, he kept things friendly. Enough distance between them when they walked side by side, kept the conversations straight-passing, hardly looking him in the eye when they spoke for fear of getting lost in them, like he always did…Marco never complained. Maybe it was because as soon as they were in private, behind closed doors, Jean would take him in his arms and shed his fake skin for a while, allowing Marco to see him vulnerable and real. Maybe it was because he understood what Jean was going through, in a sense. All in all, Jean knew it wasn’t really fair to Marco that he was doing this, using him like this in public, lying to everyone around him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to change. He was too scared. It wasn’t like he couldn’t live like this forever, right? There were people who probably lived like this all of the time…right?

Jean swallowed, still reeling from their kiss. “Hey…what are you doing here?”

Marco raised his eyebrows. “Huh? Do you have another man here?” He was joking, but still not used to this response. Usually, Jean would let him in his apartment without any questions.

Jean shook his head dramatically, grabbing a hold of Marco’s hand for a second, then pulled away. “Marco of course not…it’s uh…I have…I have plans today. I mean, I know I usually don’t, but today I do.”

Marco shrugged, unaffected. “Well what are you doing?”

Jean hesitated, then sighed. “My grandparents are coming to visit. They live off the side of the city and I’ve haven’t seen them in a while so…yeah.” He had planned on texting Marco and telling him not to come over or call him while they were there, but he’d gotten so worked up in cleaning his apartment (as well as hiding any possible traces that he had a boyfriend who basically lived there) that he’d totally forgotten.

Marco blinked his large brown eyes at him, keeping silent.

“And…you know I would invite you to meet them…but you know. They don’t know that I’m… you know.”

“Right,” Marco said uncomfortably. He shuffled, pressing his lips together. “Well, introduce me as your friend or something, I don’t know. I’d really like to meet them, you’re always telling such fun stories—“

            Jean groaned, turning around and scratching his head. “I can’t do that to you. I don’t want to lie about who you are to me. I _can’t_ lie about it. Can you imagine having you here with me, trying to introduce you and looking over at you and…” He blushed, folding his arms. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Well you can lie about being gay, you can lie about me being just a friend, can’t you?” Marco cocked his head. Jean turned slowly, sensing the tone in Marco’s voice. His eyes were narrow and lips twisted. He looked absolutely pissed—a strange thing, as he was always such a happy person.

“Marco…you know that…I can’t just—“

“Right, well forget I said anything.” Marco grabbed his scarf and coat, readjusting himself and walking back to the door. “Why don’t you call me when you’re done living your fake life, okay? Because I’m getting too tired to pretend with you anymore.” He pushed back Jean and made his way down the hallway.

“Marco!” Jean called after him, but he was already making his way down the stairs.

 

_Bzz, bzz._

Jean peeked at his phone in the dark of the night, squinting. Marco’s contact image appeared on his screen again.

He hadn’t been asleep, of course. He had been replaying the incidents of the entire morning with Marco over and over in his head. Only five minutes after Marco left, his grandparents had arrived, so Jean didn’t get the chance to run after him or call him. He’d tried texting him all day, quickly during lunch and dinner and while he went to the bathroom, but Marco had yet to respond. Of course he was angry. Jean had been using him for so, so long. He’d thrown away the best thing about his life, he knew it! He should have tried harder to show Marco what he meant to him, but it was too late. This was probably Marco’s farewell call, where he told him he was stupid for getting himself into the mess of a life that was Jean’s.

Tentatively, he answered.

“Marco.” Jean croaked, bracing himself for the end of their relationship and the end of his happiness as he knew it.

“Hey, Jeannie, listen, I know I shouldn’t be doing this over the phone, but—“ Jean held his breath, waiting for the break up line. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay?”

Jean blinked, pursing his lips. “Huh?”

            “I know I acted really selfishly today, just coming over, and then expecting me to meet your grandparents without you even inviting me… and then saying that stupid shit…. It sucks. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re not comfortable yet, not like I am, and I knew that getting into a relationship with you, and I told myself that it would be frustrating to not be able to be public and stuff with you, but I realize that’s it not just about me. It’s about you being ready and comfortable and you’re not yet. So yeah. I’m sorry. I was an ass and I shouldn’t rush you.”

            “Oh God,” Jean breathed a long, heavy sigh of relief, the weight off his chest that had been there all day finally releasing. “I’m so glad to hear that you’re not giving up on me,” he realized how emotionally tense he’d been all day at that moment, the tears coming in a rush. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore!” He sobbed. “Of course I want to introduce you to my family, and I want to come out and be comfortable and not hate myself… and you know it’s easier to feel better about myself when I’m with you, but I’m just not there yet, Marco. I’m so sorry!” He cried into his phone for so long without a response that he had to check his phone to make sure Marco was still on the other line.

            “It’s okay, Jeannie. I promise.” He said softly, then paused. “Can I come over?”

            Jean sniffed loudly, letting out a messy exhale. “Uh, yeah, of course, please do.”

            “Alright. Well I’m outside your door.”

            Jean laughed through his tears, setting his phone down and running to the door. As soon as he saw Marco, he wrapped his arms around him, bringing him inside and kissing him passionately on the mouth.

            “Listen,” Marco mumbled, pulling away and blushing a little. “I want you to know…I’ll wait for you, okay? If we’re together that long…and I hope we are, you know…I’ll wait for you until you’re comfortable enough to come out and everything. I want to be with you when you’re finally ready to be happy. So we can be happy together, okay? I’ll wait for you.”

            Jean nodded, pulling him back, holding him close and sobbing against his head. “Thank you, Marco. Thank you.”

           

Jean wouldn’t have expected his life to spiral downward so quickly. It had all started on the day when he and Marco were out on one of their rare days off together, heading to the cinema to watch a critically acclaimed film they’d been waiting to come out for a while, which was about three weeks since their first mini-fight. Through the darkness of the theater, Marco had laid his head on Jean’s shoulder halfway through the movie, thinking not too much of it because this was pretty normal behavior for the two of them in private. Jean didn’t really mind much either, his heart overcome by being in the company of the love of his life and even allowed to give a kiss atop his head at one of the more romantic scenes.

            When they were exciting the theater, chattering excitedly about the performances of the actors, an elderly woman with her husband looked them over disgustedly. Jean realized at this point that they had sat behind them in the theater, feeling an odd chill creep up his spine as he stopped talking.

            “Your kind disgusts me, you know,” the woman grumbled, holding her hand tightly in her husband’s arm, who had turned away embarrassedly at his wife’s behavior but not saying anything against it. “Just you sinners wait, you’ll be abiding in Hell for an eternity!” She spat, a vicious tremble in her brow.

            “Ines, that’s quite enough,” her husband muttered softly, pulling her away.

            Marco was quiet for a minute, then turned to Jean, trying to ease the tension by letting out a laugh. “Something’s got her panties in a bunch, huh? Did you see that horrible coat she was wearing that looked like it was straight out of the 80’s? I mean, I’m all for vintage in most cases, but…euch.”

            Jean clenched his jaw, his heart pounding in his ears as he was unable to shake her comment. He ignored Marco and was silent as they made their way to a grocery store to get things for the dinner they’d planned together. Marco didn’t seem to be as uneasy about the woman’s comment, more bothered about how Jean had been acting the entire time. They shopped mostly in silence, Jean pausing for a moment to ask Marco what kind of wine he preferred. On their way out, Jean carried the grocery bag in one hand and stared off into the street. There was a couple in front of them on their walk back to Jean’s place, seeming to be a bit younger than their age, walking close to one another. The girl kept bumping into his body on purpose, and he’d always catch her. She returned it with a bit of a flirty giggle, kissing him on the cheek each time.

            “So silly, just look at them,” Marco snorted. He paused, then looked up at Jean, slipping his hand into Jean’s free palm gently. “Kind of sweet though, isn’t it?”

            Jean let his hand feel warm in Marco’s, for a moment, the strange sensation of electricity pulsing through him like it always did when they touched, then he pulled away roughly, glancing around to make sure no one had seen and shoving his hand into his coat pocket. After his freak out, he realized what he’d done, his heart pounding hard against his chest and feeling a strong sensation of guilt in his gut. He looked over at Marco to see him greatly insulted, stopping dead in his tracks in the street, folding his arms and looking down at the ground expressionless. Jean didn’t say a word, feeling an odd lump in his throat. Marco had never looked his hurt before. He was always so happy-go-lucky, smiling all of the time, brushing off things that bothered him so easily it made Jean jealous. But now he looked severely troubled, as if the whole world were about to crash into the sun at any moment.

            “I’m sorry,” Jean whispered after making sure nobody was around or watching them. “Let’s just go back to my apartment—“

            “Really?” Marco mumbled, his voice sounding a lot lower than normal, ignoring Jean’s comment. “Really, Jean?”

            Jean winced, feeling a bit odd that Marco had actually called him by his name.

            “I’m sorry, Marco, I’m just not ready yet to—“

            “That’s always the fucking excuse, isn’t it?” Marco spat, staring at him with watering eyes. “It’s always, ‘God, I wish I didn’t fucking hate myself so much so I could really be myself with you, Marco!’ ‘Oh, I wish I didn’t care and just be like you so we could really be happy together, but I’ll keep trying until I’m ready.’ Well it’s been three weeks since you’ve said that to me, and I haven’t even seen you try! You just get by on me allowing you to cover it up in public, and you don’t think that it bothers me at all, do you? You’re just concerned about what other people will think, but you never stopped for a goddamn minute to think about what I might be thinking!”

            Jean was taken aback, furrowing his eyebrows. “Marco, I had no idea that you felt this way—“

            “Because you never even asked! You were always too preoccupied with whatever it was that you were thinking that you always dismissed me, thinking I’d just shrug it off because you weren’t ready for that kind of stuff yet. Or maybe I led you astray too much, thinking that I was always fine with it when you pushed me away…” Marco shuddered, hugging himself. A couple onlookers watched curiously, but for once Jean found it hard to care.

            “Let’s go back to my apartment, Marco. Let’s talk about it there,” he said nervously, hating to see Marco’s fat tears.

            “No, I want to talk about it here! You’re always just so fucking afraid about what people will think! They’re strangers, damn it! We live in Paris! I’m sure you won’t even see any of these people again! And your family and friends live over in Nice…there’s no way you’d ever run into them here without them telling you they’d be here first! And who fucking cares, anyway? It’s just holding hands, it’s not like you’re parading around in a g-string and a mesh hot pink crop top screaming to everyone how much of a flaming faggot you are! Of course we’re going to run across old opinionated hags like that, but most of the time people are just going to be polite and turn away because, guess what, sometimes they don’t even care because they know homos like us exist in the world and it really doesn’t even matter!” His face was maroon, now, veins in his neck strained from screaming so loud. “You know, it’s been four months and we haven’t even told each other that ‘I love you,’ yet? I was always just waiting for you to say it, like always, but now I realize it’s stupid that I haven’t told you that I love you. Well I do, Jeannie, I love you! And it’s fucking stupid that I do, because I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t feel the same way at all. Someone who loved me would try harder to feel comfortable with holding my hand in public than caring what other people thought. Someone who loved me would _want_ to introduce to me to the friends and family he cares about so much! Someone who loved me would have the audacity to try to love himself first!” Marco’s entire face was red and he was starting to tremble, obviously had never been in a state so low in his entire life.

            Jean stared at him blankly for a moment. He loved him? Jean had known for quite a while that he loved Marco, but he had always been too afraid to say anything…

            “I really don’t want to do this here, Marco,” Jean said, his heart feeling as if it were in his stomach. He ran his hand perturbed-like through his blonde hair. “Let’s just go back to my place, and—“

            Marco sighed, tears still falling to his chin. He was shut up, staring at the pavement and evidently waiting for Jean to start walking. Not knowing what else to do, he turned back around and made his way to his apartment, biting his lip. He glanced back every once and a while to see that Marco was still following. When they had finally made it there, Marco wasn’t crying anymore, but he looked a lot angrier than he did before. He had his arms folded, staring at Jean and waiting for an explanation.

            “I…I’m sorry,” Jean moaned after setting down the bag of groceries. “You know I want to, Marco, you know I do. It was just…there was that woman today, and usually I feel a lot better when I’m with you…it was just today, you know?”

            Marco cocked his head, moving his eyes to the wall now, not saying anything. Obviously he wasn’t too pleased with Jean’s response.

            “I mean…you told me you’d wait for me. You said that you didn’t want to rush me… and okay, maybe I was taking advantage, I never actually thought that it bothered you that much because you never said anything. I always just assumed…” Jean bit his lip. “I’m just not comfortable right now,” he said quietly. “But, I’ll try, if that’s what you want.” Jean added, moving forward, reaching out to hold him.

            Marco didn’t say anything for a minute, then let out in a soft, croaky voice, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

            Jean gaped, his hands still reaching outwards. His arms felt heavy like lead, then, and they fell at his sides. “What?”

            Marco shook his head, looking off to the side. “I’ve been thinking about it for a little while. A lot of times I would just lay awake at night thinking that if you and I were meant to work out, you’d feel a little better about coming out or being public or even just feeling better about yourself, and none of that has happened. I thought that I could help you, but I just don’t see any progress with us. And I know that I told you I’d wait for you and I have been,” he bit his lips and closed his eyes, looking like he was holding back tears again. “But if you can’t try to change then I don’t think I can wait anymore. I’m sorry. If it’s easier for you, blame this on me. Maybe you’ll be better with someone who can really help you, someone that you actually want to be with, someone that can help you forget about all the other stuff…that’s who you were to me, Jeannie. Or at least, that’s who you were at first.” He wiped at his eyes, chin bobbling uncontrollably. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, Jeannie.”

            Jean shook his head, feeling the sobs come on instantly, he grabbed onto Marco’s shoulders, feeling his knees go weak. “Marco, no, please no. Please don’t say this… you’re only angry right now, okay?” He wrapped his arms around Marco, kissing the sides of his face while the tears dripped down to his chin. “If you just calm down for a minute…you’ll feel better about his all.” His breathing felt short, his hands trembling. This couldn’t be happening!

            “No, Jean, it’s for the best,” Marco pushed him off, face falling stony again. “I was your first boyfriend, okay? There’s…there’s more people out there. Just give yourself a chance.” He clenched his jaw, gave one last look at Jean who was turned away with his head in his hands.

            “No, no, no!” Jean moaned. “Please don’t go, Marco. I need you in my life. I need you! I don’t care if you’re the only man I’ve ever been with, okay? I don’t care! That doesn’t mean I don’t think that you’re the right person for me! It just means that I’m the fucking luckiest guy to have found you, Marco! That’s all it means!” He sunk to his knees, unable to control them anymore. “Don’t leave me, Marco. Please!”

            “I’ll let myself out,” Marco said in something of a whisper. There were footsteps, then the sound of the door clicking to a close. Jean shuddered, looking up through his teary eyes to see that Marco had left. He let out an exasperated gasp, falling to the floor and cradling himself while he wept. Even while he tried to convince himself that Marco was just angry, that he’d come back to him later, he knew that it wasn’t true. Jean had pushed him to this state…it was all his fault.

            He felt his phone ringing in his pocket, hoping that it was Marco by some off chance, ready with an apology, but instead he saw Johanna’s name appear. This didn’t make him feel better in the slightest bit; his own twin sister that he was so close to, that he knew would never accept him for being gay, would be nearly impossible to talk to at a moment like this. His mind darting everywhere, Jean set his phone on the counter and sulked away to his bed, where he let stayed for pretty much the next few days in a pathetic, sobbing, heartbroken state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chaps coming sooooon! 
> 
> \--J


	6. Broken Sweethearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one.

            Jean had forgotten how to function without Marco. Everything in his daily life reminded him of the times that they had spent together. He’d wake up in the morning and throw his arm across the bed, expecting to grab onto Marco’s body, but all he ever got was the empty mattress. He’d prepare meals in his kitchen in complete silence, expecting to hear Marco chattering about his day or showing him a new song, or even just helping him cook. He couldn’t take showers without thinking of Marco opening the glass door with a coy look on his face, completely naked, stepping into the hot stream of water to join him.

            When he’d go grocery shopping, he’d always think about the time Jean was having a bad day and Marco tried to make him laugh by holding up various fruits and vegetables to his mouth and eyes and made funny faces (it worked). When he’d go walking around town, he thought about the time that he and Marco went on a jog together and a rainstorm interrupted them. They were over a mile away from Jean’s house, and they decided to race each other back. At the end, they clambered up the stairs, trying to tear each other down, laughing so hard that tears streamed down their already rainy faces. It didn’t matter who won their race; as soon as they opened and closed Jean’s apartment door behind them they were on the floor, mouths open and pressed together, soaked head to toe in sweat, rain, and tears, stripping each other clumsily of their clothes and proceeding to make love for the entire rest of the night.

            Even when he sat on his couch and watched t.v. or worked on homework, he missed the sound of Marco typing away at his laptop, his body pressed to his side, warm and cozy. Jean had never realized how much Marco had consumed of his daily life…how much he’d made it better. He lived so quietly before. Sometimes he didn’t even think about the fact that he was alive, rather just “moving on” from day to day. With Marco he was excited to wake up and he was excited to go to sleep. Every normal activity that he’d ever done in his life only contained traces of Marco from that point forward. He’d seen color differently. He’d heard songs differently. Even the air felt different on his skin. Yeah…he’d been in love with Marco the minute he’d looked into his beautiful brown eyes. And Marco had changed his life from the second he’d looked back.

            Since the first day after their break-up, Jean couldn’t stop crying. He cried himself to sleep most nights, returning again to the days of high school when he’d wallow in self pity after a stressful day and shed tears into his pillow or lock himself in his bathroom and cry in the shower before bed. He’d kept out Marco’s toothbrush and comb in the same spots that they always were, just in case, but after a few days he had to hide them as well as the spare clothes Marco had left in a small box in his closet, unable to even glance at them without sobbing. His face was so red and swollen from the tears he decided to skip all of his classes for that week, telling his professors he’d come down with an illness and was going to work from home. He’d returned to overconsumption of alcohol and indulged in junk food, but in spite of this, during the first week, Jean had lost six pounds. He attributed this to the amount of time that he’d spent wallowing away in his bed.

            The entire first week following their break up, Jean tried to call Marco a few times a day. He never received a response, and most often his calls just went to voicemail. On the seventh day in the evening, Marco finally answered, causing Jean to burst out in tears.

“Marco!” He gasped, turning the volume on his phone all the way up. “Oh my God, Mar—“

“Jean, listen to me. I’m only going to say this once, so don’t interrupt me.” Marco’s voice was cold and strained. Jean had never heard him like this, never even imagined that Marco had the ability to sound so distant. “Stop. Stop calling me. Stop trying to contact me. I don’t want to fucking do this anymore—I can’t. You need to give me space, okay? Please, just leave me be, Jean.” Marco let out a small whimper at the end, but cleared his throat in attempt to cover it up.

“No—Marco please—“ Jean tried, but Marco’d already hung up.

Jean had stopped trying, then. He realized that it was more than how he felt—so much more. The whole reason that they had even broken up in the first place was because Marco thought that Jean didn’t love him—rightfully so. This break up had to be hard for him too…maybe even harder. What had Jean ever done for Marco in the first place? Even after Jean and Marco had their first fight and Jean had promised to work harder, he never even tried. He never went to Marco’s apartment in fear that some random stranger would find out about them. He was incredibly short with him in public. He never even wanted Marco to know that there was any possibility he loved him at all. No wonder why Marco left him. If their roles were reversed Jean would leave himself too.

After the initial shock of the break-up, Jean began to return to his daily life again. He went back to school and back to his internships. He stopped drinking so much and started exercising again. It wasn’t because he was happy—he was still incredibly torn apart and still couldn’t sleep properly. However, he knew that if there was anything he’d accomplished in his life this far, it was learning how to distance himself from sadness. He’d gotten over drug addiction and had halted years of suicidal thoughts. Plus, he knew that if Marco could see the way he was, he’d hate him for it. Marco knew how hard and how long it took him to feel somewhat normal, and would tell him that just one setback in his life shouldn’t completely destroy his progress. Even if losing Marco was like one million setbacks all bundled together in one, heartbreaking package…

 

One day, after bout two weeks of being Marco-less, Jean was taking a jog at the park near his apartment when he came across a gay couple sitting on a bench. At first he’d jogged past them, mind still filled with a wide array of thoughts, but then he stopped and turned to look, bending over with his hands on his knees.

They were cuddling, one had his arms around the other while the other was showing him something on his cell phone. Jean felt his heart drop to his stomach, remembering that he and Marco would sit in the same exact way. Marco…

Then something occurred to him. There they were, not giving an entire shit about the rest of the world, just sitting in love and being normal and enjoying one another’s company. Jean stood up straight, then, looking around. Nobody so much as glanced in their direction. Nobody cared and neither did they.

It was as if Jean had the wind knocked out of him, then. Everything finally made sense!

Jean took off in the direction of Marco’s apartment, running as fast as he could. Just seeing the bookstore below his apartment made him want to cry, but he bit back his tears as he rushed up the stairs and knocked on Marco’s door without stopping.

            Nearly a minute later, Marco opened the door. His eyes were wide and alarmed at the sudden disturbance, but once he saw Jean, his face had completely fallen. He was about to close the door when Jean, empowered even more by the sight of Marco’s beautiful eyes and splay of freckles, stopped him.

            “The first time we met,” Jean panted. “I looked into your eyes and I knew that you were the one for me. That you were going to change my life. We hadn’t even really had a real conversation yet. I didn’t want to go telling you because I thought that was foolish, but I still knew. Then we went on our first date and I thought I had ruined my only chance with you, but you proved me wrong, showing me how beautiful you could be. When we met again on that perfect night, I was sure I’d never be out of love with you, that I could never part from you, because you were already the best thing that had ever happened to me. You showed me what it meant to be totally accepting of people no matter what they had been through. Through the time we had been together, you showed me what kindness meant, what happiness meant, what love meant.

“I know I’m an asshole, okay? I know it. I don’t deserve you; I never did and I still don’t. Before I met you, I never thought that I could be loved. I don’t know how it happened, but it did. You are the most selfless, amazing person I’ve ever met, Marco—“ at this point, Jean choked out a sob, but didn’t stop talking. “And after you told me you loved me it gave me hope. It made me think that if I could make a great guy like you laugh and smile…it must mean that I’m worth something. _Something_.

That’s all I have right now, Marco. I can’t make you a promise I can’t keep, because I can’t bear to be the reason why you’re hurting ever again, so I can’t tell you that I’m ready to really be okay with who I am. But I don’t want that to keep us apart. I want to show you that I will work for as long as I can, for as hard as I can, to prove to you that I can love you the way you really deserve. A-and I don’t want to depend on you, either. I don’t want you to be the only reason in my life that I feel like I should be alive, because I need to see the beauty in the world, just like you do. I just want to show you that I want to be alive _because_ of you, that I want to keep going on because you showed me how to—because you made me _want_ to.

Maybe I don’t show that I love you like I should, maybe I can’t come out to my family right now, but the rest of it doesn’t matter anymore, Marco. I just want to be with you, and I don’t want to be with anyone else. I love you so much…and you know what? I do want to hold your hand out in public, I want to hold you, and kiss you, and not care! In fact--” in his passion, he took a very astonished Marco by the arm and dragged him out onto the populated street. The entire time Marco weakly protested, saying that the door was open, asking him what he was doing, telling him to slow down.

There, Jean looked around at all of the people passing them by, then he looked at Marco. Beautiful, sweet, kind Marco. He was red from his neck to his ears, his eyes wide with confusion and worry. Jean’s heart felt so full. He couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without him. With shaking hands, Jean took his face and kissed him on the lips. Marco was so stunned, all that he could do was twitch his fingers for a minute while Jean mashed his face up against his, holding him close. When he pulled away, Jean was laughing through the tears in his eyes. People were moving all around them, but for the first time, he didn’t even notice. “I don’t care,” Jean said, pressing his forehead against Marco’s, who was crying now, too. “I don’t care what they’re thinking right now. I don’t care who sees. I just care about you, and what you think, and how much you mean to me. And I love you, Marco. So, so much.”

            Marco pouted for a second, unable to control his bobbing chin. Finally he gave in, throwing his arms around Jean’s neck and shivering. He didn’t say anything for a while as he tried to stop his tears. “I love you too, Jean. God, I missed you so much!” He reached up to kiss Jean again, who returned it joyfully, ecstatic that Marco had forgiven him. “That was really dramatic, though!” He laughed, taking his face and staring him in the eyes.

            “I don’t care,” Jean smiled. “I wanted you to see what I felt after being too scared to show you before.”

            After the initial adrenaline rush had worn off, the two of them realized that they were taking up space in the middle of the busy street during rush hour. A couple of them gave them annoyed looks, but that was only because they were in their way. Marco buried his head in Jean’s neck in embarrassment. “Oh God,” Marco moaned. “This is embarrassing. Let’s go back to my place.”

Jean obliged, pulling Marco back up to his apartment. He took Marco in his arms again, drinking in their kisses, breathing in his subtle scent. Within minutes they were in Marco’s bed, completely naked, loving each other and indulging in one another after their two weeks apart. Jean made a mental note to never stop being grateful for the best person in his life, as well as the courage that he’d gained in the fight to win him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sooooon. Also why is the formatting so weird all of the time?!


	7. Saut dans le vide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 6 month time-skip after the last chapter. Things have been great between Jean and Marco for months, but it's time to look at the ways their lives are moving in a more realistic and critical light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Leap into the void." The title comes from the song Nara. I also listened to this song on repeat while writing it.
> 
> I decided not to write any scenes from the time between this chapter and the last chapter. I kind of like the idea of this 6 month time skip. In my head, I see the unwritten scenes of Marco and Jean in a hazy, rose-tinted filter, where they are just happy and smiling and kissing and laughing all the time. I thought it would be nice to have a period of undisturbed and pure joy and didn't see much use in trying to put that into text.
> 
> The rest of my chapters might have small gaps between them as well. Sometimes my mind just jumps around :)

A small bit of sunlight slipped through the crack of Jean’s blinds, casting a ray of gold on his and Marco’s shoulders. He groaned, opening one of his eyes to look at the time. 9:45 AM. They’d slept in so much!

            “Marco,” he mumbled into his ear. “It’s almost 10 o’clock.” Marco rolled over and buried his head in his arms as a response, so Jean attacked him by climbing on top of him. “Come on, we’re supposed to go to breakfast before the press conference at 11:30!” He whined, straddling Marco’s back with his thighs and pulling his arms away.

            “Muhhhh,” Marco said into the pillow, trying weakly to push Jean off with his left hand.

            Jean stood up then, opening the blinds and yanking the blanket off of Marco with a wicked smile. Blinking his glittering brown eyes open, he casted a scorn at Jean and finally rolled a few more times until he was up.

            “I hate you,” Marco yawned, hugging Jean’s waist and laying his head on Jean’s shoulder with his eyes closed as they walked to the bathroom.

            “I hate you more.” He kissed Marco on the temple and turned on the shower at the same time. “Next time let’s not stay up until four in the morning when we both have stuff to do the next day.”

            “Well, don’t fuck me back to back three times, then,” Marco’s nuzzled Jean’s neck as they moved into the shower. Laughing, Jean reached for his favorite soap and began washing up. Marco had moved to leaning his cheek against the shower’s glass wall, so Jean lathered up his body and shampooed his dark hair before rinsing off himself.

            It was hard not to feel happy these days. Things had been going so well for months, now. Sure, there was a tiny little flicker of jealousy there or a itty-bitty fight about not agreeing on the same movie here, but nothing as serious as the fight that had broken them up almost six months ago. Marco had completely moved into Jean’s apartment and they were totally fine with being a public (in Paris, at least) couple, and Jean had honestly expected living with someone for the first time to be a lot harder. To his great surprise, Marco was wonderful to live with. They were both neat and organized people, so they never got on each others nerves about messes or dishes, and they were both timely with rent and other bills. Marco loved to cook for the two of them, and when he was too tired or they didn’t have groceries, neither of them minded going out to eat or calling for take-out. It was almost like they were a married couple—a thought that instantly brought a blush to Jean’s cheeks. When they both went back to the States for winter break, they missed living with each other so much that Jean literally drove over 45 minutes to Marco’s parents house past midnight just to sleep with him, then drove back before sunrise before anyone in his house woke up for two weeks straight. Luckily nobody in the Kirschstien household had any idea what was going on, and Marco’s entire family loved Jean so he was welcome there at literally any time. The only time anyone from Jean’s side got curious was when he began taking three hour naps in the middle of the day—something he’d never done in his life—and Johanna and his parents asked him if he needed to go to the hospital.

            When it was time to come back to Paris, they were back to the married couple instantly, even better now that they knew how miserable they were when they didn’t live together. Still, the end of the semester was drawing dangerously close and Marco was going back to New York to graduate with his current university and Jean was staying in Paris after graduation to work with one of his internship companies. Neither of them had talked about what was possibly going to happen with their relationship, and the euphoria was so strong that neither of them wanted to. The conversation was inevitable, though, and Jean knew it was only a matter of time before Marco brought it up or he himself did.

            “Okay,” clearing his throat, Jean scrubbed Marco’s hair a few more times to make sure it was without suds. “You’re clean. We gotta hurry, babe.”

            Marco yawned yet again, walking out of the shower and grabbing his towel before brushing his teeth. Jean followed him shortly after, then got dressed and combed his hair as quickly as possible. He picked up the suit he laid out the night before and threw it on. When he came back into the steamy bathroom, Marco seemed to have woken up a little. He was checking out his reflection in the mirror and styling his hair with gel. “Our hair stuff’s almost out,” he mumbled, fixated on adjusting his mini pompadour. “There’s always major ups and major downs to living with you. Ups: we use the same brand of practically everything and cut costs by sharing. Downs: we run out of all that shit twice as fast.”

“Well, I’m not the one who uses quarter of a jar on my head to get my ‘do the way I like it,” Jean chuckled. He came up behind Marco and wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing him on the neck and not at all caring that his suit was getting damp. “So that ‘down’ is pretty much all on you.” Jean felt his smile fall as his previous thoughts came back into his mind. He leaned his cheek up against Marco’s and blinked back at their reflection, holding his breath. “So…” he said cautiously to the mirror. “I think we have to talk about some stuff at breakfast.”

            In a completely nonchalant manner, Marco’s eyes flicked up at Jean’s for a second, then he stared back at his hair and nodded. “You’re right,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I guess I’ll have to get dressed before we go out though.” Jean untangled his arms and watched as Marco strutted over to the closet and began putting on his suit. Sighing, Jean walked out into the kitchen and waited for Marco finish so they could leave. His beautiful boyfriend always acted like this—making it seem like the sad things in life were just a part of the daily routine. They were no reason to get all worked up over, according to him, or so he said. Deep down, Jean knew Marco held back on his emotions half the time because he knew how fragile Jean could be. All appearances aside, Marco truly was the strong one. To this day, the only time Jean had ever seen Marco shed tears of sadness was when they had broken up. That was the first time he realized that Marco wasn’t the happy-go-lucky oh-well-shit-happens guy that he pretended to be. But still, even after they had gotten back together and they both knew what he was really like, Marco toughened his skin just to help Jean get along. Jean couldn’t imagine anyone else on the world more saint-like than him.

            “Alright. I have strawberry buckwheat pancakes with my name on them!” He cheered, ten times more cheerful than he had been only two minutes ago.

            They left their apartment hand in hand, walking down to the street and hailing a taxi. During the car ride, Jean and Marco snuggled up in the back seat, sharing a phone screen as they examined what they’d missed on social media overnight. It only took them about fifteen minutes to get to the breakfast place, which was in the same hotel as the press conference. Marco paid the fare and the tip and they ventured into the restaurant, extremely overdressed compared to all of the tourists who were there. It only took them a couple minutes to decide what to eat—they’d been to this restaurant a few times before due to there being multiple press conferences and events at the same hotel. Once the waitress took their orders and walked away, a stiff silence, something that was unnatural between them, filled the air.    

            “So, um,” Jean sipped a bit of his coffee, avoiding Marco’s glaring emerald eyes. “It’s already May, huh?”

            Marco nodded, twisting his mouth around and averting his eyes as well. “You’re right. I can’t remember if we’ve had this conversation before, but was there anything that you had planned for the summer?”

            “Nope,” he shook his head once. “I’m staying here until my lease is up next year. And you booked your flight back to JFK, right?”

            “Yeah,” Marco muttered, genuinely looking sad for the first time in almost a year.

            “When?”

            “It’s June 5th.”

            Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Part of this was because their food had arrived, but it was also because they were too reluctant to actually speak.

            “Less than a month.” Marco added, cutting into his pancake and taking a bite. Not feeling hungry anymore, Jean stared down at his plain oat-cereal.

            “Okay, so am I crazy for thinking we have to do something about us? I mean, at least talk about what’s going to happen?” Jean asked, trying not to get too upset in public. His hand quivered idly on his spoon.

            “No. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me you wanted to talk about it. I didn’t think it would take this long, though.” Smirking a little, Marco set down his fork and knife with a resounding _clunk_ and met eyes with Jean once again. “To be honest, and I don’t want it to sound like I’m completely indifferent on the matter, I really want it to be up to you, Jean. I mean, I’m the one that’s moving back…moving away from you. I would feel obliged to have more of a say in the matter if our roles were reversed. Do you think that’s reasonable of me?”

            Asking Jean if Marco’s opinions and ideas sounded reasonable was a common question of his. That’s why they barely ever got into fights—Marco was incredibly rational. There was never any blind decisions or illogical thoughts that crossed him.

            “Sure,” Jean tried smiling back, but the nerves and stress from the entire thing had just gotten the best of him. “This is just what I’ve been thinking, and please do tell me if you have any other ideas about this…” On a second thought, Jean reached across the table and took ahold of both of Marco’s hands, possibly looking like they were simply praying to all of the other customers. “I think we should stop seeing each other. We won’t be together for over a year. That’s talking in regular terms, you know, not during vacations or breaks or anything. This is our first year out of school, too, which is both stressful and incredibly relaxed all at the same time. By that I mean, there’ll be a lot of articles to write and so many new thing to learn, but also a lot of socializing and…and I don’t want to hold you back from simple flirtation or some fun dates or a great one-night stand or whatever. I want you to have the freedom to do whatever you want. Plus, I’ve never been in a long-distance relationship, and you haven’t either, so I honestly don’t know how well we could make it work. That’s taking in the fact that when we were apart during winter break, it was so hard for us not to physically be together that I had to drive an hour and thirty minutes every day just to spend less than four hours with you, sleeping by your side and not even talking. I just think it would be too hard to try to maintain that. I’m not saying that I want this,” his voice got quieter as the lump in his throat grew, “because God, this has been amazing… _you’ve_ been amazing… I just think that this is the best thing to do for the time being. And maybe, if we both want to, if we’re both really good at waiting, we can get back together.” A small tear had escaped the corner of his eye, so he wiped it away with his thumb. “What do you think?”

            Marco cracked a sympathetic smile, stroking the back of Jean’s hands with his thumbs comfortingly. “I think you’re right.” Jean smiled back at him, trying not to cry any harder than he already was, but the lump in his throat and the swelling of his chest made that all too hard. He wasn’t sure if Marco was just saying that he felt the same way and Jean just because he thought he ought to be without an opinion, or not. Actually, that was a lie. He was 100% positive that was what Marco was doing. Although he did want to know how Marco felt for real, it would be near impossible to get that information out of him. Plus, it probably didn’t matter what Marco thought anyway. Normally, Marco would automatically consider Jean’s opinion and throw away his own just to make Jean happy, that is, unless Jean was really being unreasonable, then Marco would tell him outright.

            His chin started bobbing uncontrollably as his silent tears made their way down his cheeks, but he grinned at Marco regardless. “I love you so much,” he sniffed, gripping Marco’s fingers so tight he was sure he heard them crack more than once. “You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be…this relationship has been the greatest thing to happen to me in my entire life. I never knew that a single person could make someone feel this way.”

            Marco reached forward, placing his hand on Jean’s wet cheek. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been, too, Jeannie. _Ever_.” He whispered loud enough for Jean to hear, his voice two octaves higher than normal. Jean couldn’t suppress his shiver, hearing those words and looking at him like that. He was still smiling, but his eyebrows were pulled inwards in sorrow. “And honestly, Jean. I know I’ve said it before, but I’m the first serious relationship you’ve had. You might have a really good time with someone else. You never know what’s going to happen in the future.”

            He nodded although he knew deep down that he would never look for anyone else. There was never anyone else but Marco for him. It had taken so long to meet someone he could be himself with, and sure, he didn’t mind being open with strangers and friends, but that didn’t mean that he could love any of them the way he loved Marco. He had never been so sure of anything in his life.

            “Come on, what are these tears for?” Letting out a chuckle, Marco wiped Jean’s face with gentle fingers. “We still have three weeks together! Let’s make them the best three weeks we’ve ever had! Three more weeks of 11 AM breakfast! Three more weeks of staying up until 4 in the morning doing each-other like crazy! Three more weeks of my turkey lasagna!” While his voice and outer expression was bright and cheerful, Jean could see the bottom of his eyelids struggling not to let the dam of tears break loose.

            “Ugh, this sucks. I’m going to show up for the press conference all snotty and red-eyed like some sort of freak. My boss is going to think I’m a nut.” Jean shook his head, wiping his nose off in his napkin.

            “Of course not! You’re ten times cuter when you cry! You know why? You’re already too good-looking to be real, so when your face and eyes and nose get all red and swollen, it makes you look more realistic and approachable!” He let out another laugh. Slowly, the smile on his face dimmed in size until his teeth were no longer showing. One hand was still on Jean’s face, wiping off his tears with his thumb, and the other was holding his fingers gingerly to Marco’s chest. Wanting to save face, he leaned over the table and kissed Jean on the lips tenderly before he let any tears slip accidentally. Although his eyes were closed, he could feel customers all over the restaurant staring at them or pretending not to notice them kissing, and, like he had for the last six months whenever they expressed any PDA, Jean ignored it without trial. All he could focus on were the softness of Marco’s cheeks and the radiating warmth of his lips. Why couldn’t he just live in this moment for the rest of his life?

            “I love you too,” Marco pressed his forehead against Jean’s temple, whispering into his ear. “I love you more than I could ever possibly put into words. You know that, don’t you?”

            Jean nodded and closed his eyes, squeezing out a few more tears and inhaling an awkward, choppy breath. Marco kissed him a few more times, then sat back and bit his lip. They gazed at each other, holding hands across the table again, staying silent for a while and just absorbing each-other’s company as much as they could. The waitress came over and asked them if everything was okay and they nodded as friendly as they could. When she walked away, Marco let go of one of Jean’s hands and started to finish his pancakes, a mournful look finally taking place on his face. He glanced up after he’d been eating a while to find Jean watching him with his cheek pressed into his free hand.

            “You haven’t even touched your cereal, Jeannie,” he worried, the frown on his face deepening.

            Jean shrugged, still finding it hard to talk. “I guess I’m not very hungry.” His reply came out in a hoarse, rugged voice, and he wondered for a minute how he could possibly interview anyone when he was like this. “Do you think we could skip the press conference?” He picked up his cloth napkin and wiped his entire face, getting aggravated that it was still so damp after all the wiping he’d already done.

            “If you want to. It wasn’t mandatory for either of us, right? I mean, we’ll miss out on some great PR. Otherwise, those two new interns from my school will be there. I’m fine with whatever you want to do.”

            After a minute of thinking, Jean got out some cash big enough to cover their tab plus a tip. “I say we pass on this one.” Marco nodded, completely indifferent on the matter, and finished his pancakes. When they got up to leave and started walking out into the lobby, Jean tugged on Marco’s arm and spoke softly into his ear. “Since we’re here, let’s book a suite for the night. I need to have you so bad right now.” Towards the end of his sentence, his voice lowered to a hungry growl.

            Marco raised his eyebrows with a goofy smirk on his lips. “Well, you can have me in a single-bed room too, you know.”

            “Nope. I want a suite with a big bathtub, room service with champagne and strawberries, and a bed big enough for every different position in the book.” He resisted the urge to squeeze his butt and walked up to the counter, booking the best room they had with an extra request for whole strawberries, chocolate, candles, and two bottles of Dom Perignon. If they only had three weeks left, he wanted to make sure that they were absolutely unforgettable.

            After he slipped the hotel clerk his debit card and took their keys, they rode the elevator up to the 28th floor, making sure to shoves their tongues in each other’s mouths whenever they had the space to themselves. Once they made it to their room, they stripped each other out of their clothes almost immediately and preceded to make love over and over again until the wee hours of the morning, only stopping to drink, eat, and watch some pay-per-view movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter soon! As always, thanks for reading.  
> \--J

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have posted this when I was drunk ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> \--J


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